


A Constant Condescension

by CaptainStormChaser



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human/Troll Society, Canon Temporary Character Death, Character Death, F/F, F/M, Frottage, Hemospectrum, M/M, Multi, Other, Rebellion, Resistance, Revolution, Tentabulges, Troll Anatomy, Trolls on Earth, Violence, government overthrow, most of the ships are barely acknowledged, resistancestuck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-03-29 23:40:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 14
Words: 29,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3915022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainStormChaser/pseuds/CaptainStormChaser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The past beats down John Egbert's front door one day, forcing him to venture alone into the life that took his mother and grandmother. Well, not completely alone. Dave tagged along as well. In a world where an underground resistance challenges the tyranny of the empire, John Egbert will disappear. The Heir of Breath will rise in his place as a decades-old organization gears up toward its final goal- to take out the empress herself.</p>
<p>Rated for violence, suggestive situations, and Karkat Vantas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Act 1

A woman hurried on the streets of night, hood pulled over her head and precious bundle clutched to her bosom. Rain poured around her, slicking the side walk. But her feet refused to slip, balance strengthened by years of working on her feet. The years were evident in her appearance. Her formerly silky black hair had turned lighter, streaks of grey adorning it. The skin of her face was more wrinkled than it once was. But one could not say she wasn't still beautiful.  
  
A sharp, jeering laughter cut the air like a slicked blade, and the woman quickly pressed her body into the opening of an alleyway. A pair of patrols rounded a corner of the sprawling expanse of the capital's streets, never noticing that the woman was concealed in the shadows as they passed by. She was thankful yet again that her cargo was asleep, as an alerting scream was the last thing she needed with over a hundred elite laughsassins after her.  
  
She had given her best 44 years to the agency. Now, death at her doorstep, she would give them the only thing she had left.  
  
Nearly an hour later, she had found the entrance to the underground she was looking for and navigated the tunnels to a door she had been going in and out of for as long as she could remember. She knocked on it, gaining entrance shorty after.  
  
"What are you doing here?" The troll who let the woman in asked. "You need to get to hiding. They know who you are."  
  
"I couldn't leave without making sure he was safe." The old woman produced her bundle, the baby still sleeping. "I know they will find me. I won't try and avoid my fate by pretending they won't." The old woman laughed. "The witch will probably want to cull me herself, for all the grief I've caused her. But I ask of you, my dearest friend, will you take care of my grandson in my place? And make sure he knows that I'm proud of him, no matter what he grows up to be?"  
  
The troll known as the Disciple took the infant into her arms and nodded. "What is his name?"  
  
The woman smiled wistfully at the sleeping child, crop of black hair on top of his tiny head. "Jake."

* * *

Five years later, a small boy snuck into the dark room of his guardian. He pulled a trunk from where it was wedged behind the recupercoon, opening it. There were stacks of papers, a folded pair of grey and red leggings, all things kept for sentimental reasons.  
  
The child picked out the framed photograph from long ago, from long before he was born, or even before his mother was born. He had long since memorized the names and faces of the trolls and humans lined up for it, smiling merrily.  
  
He found the face of his grandmother, arm in arm with her brother. Long dark hair floated around her face and over her shoulders. She was laughing, probably from something her older brother had said to her. He was quite the jokester from what the boy had been told.  
  
The boy was grabbed from behind and lifted up, much to his screaming protests.  
  
He just wanted to look at her a bit longer.

* * *

Dirk Strider crouched behind the low wall that surrounded the alley back entrance of the massive factory, fingers drumming softly over the hilt of his katana. He wanted to squirm out of his uncomfortable position between the wall and heavy wooden crates, but doing so would only disturb the stacks of goods and bring them unnecessary attention from the guards. He let out a nervous breath, feeling his partner's eyes on him.  
  
"You alright, there, old chum?" The distinctly male false British accent that was Jake asked him in whisper.  
  
Dirk nodded. "Fine."  
  
"Excellent. Because here comes our consignment now." Jake was visibly smiling, shifting the material of his pale gold mask. Dirk returned it weakly under his own red-violet.  
  
The truck approached, upturning gravel. As it stopped to get clearance with the gate, the duo left their hiding place in favor of entering the back of the vehicle and ducking among the bags of untreated grist, each bag labeled in Alternian what type it was. Any sort of Earth language had long ago been banned from writing and all books either translated or burned. No sooner after they were flat on the truck floor did a beam of light pass overhead, illuminating the darkness in its narrow ray. It swept back and forth, surveying the truck before leaving, allowing the truck to move into the loading dock of the factory.  
  
When it stopped again, Jake looked to Dirk for confirmation. The team leader nodded. Jake pulled two pistols from his belt, loading each silently and swiftly.  
  
The back of the delivery truck was pulled completely up, flooding it with the cruel, artificial light of the grist processing factory. The air was acrid and hot, making sweat bead beneath Dirk's mask. Humans and lowbloods began hefting bags, moving them to their place. Choosing an opportune moment when there were very few eyes on them, the two young men stood up, katana drawn and pistols raised.  
  
Jake cleared his throat, gathering the horrified attention of the workers. "Good evening, ladies and gentleman. It would seem we have a bit of a predicament. We have a mission to carry out, and you have work to do. Now, I'm sure with a bit of cooperation, we could all be happy. If you would kindly direct-"  
  
A series of screams cut through the air as armed imperial soldiers swarmed the large crowded room, beating down anyone that got in their way to the intruders.  
  
"I don't think they're going to work with us, Page." Dirk said calmly.  
  
"Always an unfortunate occurrence. It's a shame, really." Jake replied. A mere second later, they were in action. Dirk slicing, spraying a rainbow of bodily fluids, and Jake smoothly alternating shots, hands jerking upward slightly after each bullet was sent into their target.  
  
Before long, the factory floor was empty of life, the workers having fled soon after the fighting began. "A job well done, I say." Jake said with the cocky grin he seemed to favor. "I don't suppose we're going to ha-"  
  
"Look out!" Dirk yelled, hurling his sword under Jake's arm and into the gut of the last surviving guard. The troll grasped at the blade, unable to believe his fate as green blood poured past his lips. He fell to his knees, gasping. He met where the eyes would be on Dirk's face if the mask was removed.  
  
"I know who you are." He croaked out feebly. "The Prince of Heart," his head turned to Jake. "And the Page of Hope. Some say you're going to save the world."  
  
"And what do you say?" Jake asked his would-be killer.  
  
The troll scoffed. "I say you'll both be dead in a sweep. You can't beat her."  
  
"We won't know that until we try." Dirk said blankly. "Now come on, dude. We've got shit to do."  
  
Jake smirked, hand touching the loaded bag on his back.  
  
Within an hour, all of the high power explosives adorned various points of interest of the factory machinery. A long copper wire was unwound from its massive roll as they moved back outside. When they had reached the edge of the grounds.  
  
Dirk attached the crown jewel of their weapons cocktail, a premium timed detonator of Captor (the younger, thank Jegus) engineering, to the end of the wire. A soft click denoted the beginning of the 30 second count down. Jake and Dirk strolled back down the alley, not even batting an eyelash at the cataclysmic explosion occurring behind them.  
  
Jake removed his head covering, shaking out his dark hair and combing his fingers through his sweat soaked bangs. In doing so, he managed to smear soot on the side of his jaw.  
  
Dirk, sans mask, looked at his team mate, trying to say something that had weighed on his mind almost constantly for a long time.  
  
"Jake?" He asked, sighing. "Can you take care of the report?"  
  
Jake have him a knowing smile and nodded. "Now go home and take care of your brother."  
  
Dirk shoved his mask and matching sweat shirt into his bag before he turned the corner, back on the street. Fingers pulled the ironic anime shades from their place in the side pocket of his backpack, inexplicably still unbroken after all they had gone through in that location. He kept his head down and hands in his pockets, gradually rejoining the world of normal people. Humans and trolls alike moved on the streets, giving way to those above them on the hemospectrum. As he got nearer the edge of the business district of the city and his apartment building, he saw something that hadn't been there that morning. A row of wanted posters lined the side of a brick building, showing skilled depictions of several masked faces.  
  
_Traitors and Renegades_ one read. _Known them by these signs._ Beneath the fuchsia ink were sketches of the Resistance's symbols in a 3x4 grid. The siren song line to bounty hunters and legislacerators had all of the most notorious agents, and a few that had taken care to stay out of the public eye.  
  
The Knight of Blood, Sylph of Space, Seer of Mind, Rogue of Breath, the ever-so-outdated Seer of Blood, Bard of Rage, Jake's Page of Hope, even Dirk's own Prince of Heart, an 8,000 boonbuck bounty on his head. He had cost, with Jake, at least seven times that in damages to the Baroness. His fingers gripped one flier, not discriminating, ripping it from the nails that held it up. It swayed and fluttered to the ground before touching the puddle that would undo all of its type and sketching in only a few minutes, but its defacer walked on without ever seeing the paper fall.  
  
When he got home, he climbed up to the top of the building, unlocked the 28th floor apartment and went inside.  
  
Dave was at the kitchen table with his friend John, probably studying.  
  
"Hello, Mr. Strider." John greeted in his obnoxiously well-mannered tone.  
  
"Hey, Bro. How was work at the grist mill today? See enough crushed spirits grinding their bones down for the good of the empire?" Dave said, the little smart-ass.  
  
Dirk opened the fridge, pulling out a milk carton and taking a heavy gulp before returning it to its place beside the carton of . "Greatest day ever. I'm thinking about getting more hours so I can spend more time surrounded by its glory." He slammed the refrigerator door, going down the hallway to his bedroom.  
  
The second the door made loud contact with its frame, John turned to Dave. "Do you think it was really _that_ bad?"  
  
Dave sighed and slapped a hand over his face. "No John. My bro is committed to spending his entire life in a sheer cesspool of human oppression. I hate myself everyday for being the one thing in the way of his dream. So thank you, Egbert, for ripping open the nearly-closed wounds of self-loathing in my mind."  
  
John blinked slowly, then smiled at the joke.  
  
Dave's phone buzzed, probably a message from his totally-not-girlfriend, Jade. In reading the text, he took notice of how late it had gotten. "Shit, John, you should probably stay the night. Unless you left right now, you'd miss curfew. And the last thing I need is having to see your blood stains on the sidewalk while I'm on the way to your house for your funeral."  
  
John checked his own cell phone, evaluating his odds. "Alright, I'll call my dad. I just feel kind of bad, because Jane's doing something tonight, and my dad and I were going to hang out and watch some movies." He punched in the number, hearing the dial tone for a while before it went to voice mail. He didn't let himself be concerned for long before he sent a text telling his dad where he was.  
  
Down the hallway, Dirk was leaning against his door, panting heavily. His fist swung behind him as he flipped the position of his body, creating another patch in the field of indentations in the shape of his knuckles. He had had to replace that sheet rock so many times, he eventually just stopped fixing it and let the punch marks accumulate. It's not like the landtroll was going to do anything about it.  
  
Spots of scarlet now on the backs of his knuckles, Dirk decided to address the direct reason for his frustration.  
  
He had the perfect opportunity, English wouldn't have even known it was coming. _I love you._ Was that so goddamn hard? Instead Dirk had asked him to do his paperwork for him.  
  
And Jake had just stood there like a clueless, cheery dumb ass. With his stupid smile permanently fixed on his face, his tan skin, his irritating soft hair that swished when he moved his head, green eyes that make you feel like you're drowning in warmth and made Dirk's knees wobble, strong, toned legs in cargo shorts, leading up to that firm, shapely-  
  
_No!_ Dirk mentally slapped himself. Now was not the time to be having erotic fantasies about his best friend. His backpack was thrown to the floor, katana sheathed on the back. The way the world was at this point, no one thought twice about someone walking around with a weapon on proud display instead of their strife specibus. He stripped off his shirt, pants, and shoes before falling face-first on his bed. He lay there breathing for what seemed like a few hours before exhaustion overpowered his active mind and gave into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my, what's this? I posted a fanfic I've had half-written for a while instead of studying for finals or trying to finish the other fics in progress?
> 
> Thanks for reading this far! Review and tell me what you think!


	2. Act 2

Jake did several laps of a few blocks, mixing in some odd turns and a stop inside a beat down coffee shop to lose any unseen followers. It was a fairly popular human-owned place, sometimes even getting some blue blooded visitors. Now, however, it was nearly empty. Curfew was imminent, and any human out after dark giving patrols reasonable circumstances would be killed on sight. But really, that just meant whenever they got bored.   
  
The only drawback to the place was that the cashier was usually drunk and always flirting with the costumers. Miss Lalonde, if Jake remembered correctly.   
  
He stepped up to the currently unattended counter, searching his pockets for some boonbucks. He fished out his wallet, dropping it when the barista appeared out of nowhere to ask him what he would like.   
  
After bending down to retrieve it, he stood back up, looking at the employee and realizing it was most _definitely_ not the drunk blonde Jake usually encountered. This young lady was far different. Short black locks framed her round face, front teeth coming just a bit past her lower lip. Her nervous blue eyes searched Jake's and he realized that he was just standing there, dumbstruck.   
  
"Roxy?" She called anxiously, shaking him from his self-supplied awkward silence and forcing a blush to his cheeks.   
  
Roxy Lalonde came out of the back room, resting both her elbows on the counter. "Why hello Mr. Englich." She slurred vodkatically.   
  
Jake smiled fleetingly, finding his voice again. "Good evening, Miss Lalonde. And may I inquire as to who this lovely dame is?" _Smooth._ He thought.   
  
Roxy smiled mischievously. "This is Janey, my new co-worker. I'll go get your usual and leave you two to get acquaitened." She gently pushed Janey forward toward the counter while she went back to tend the coffee maker. Jake fished a handful of boondollars out of his wallet and slapped the brightly minted coins onto the java colored surface of the counter.   
  
Janey met Jake's eyes for a moment before looking away with her cheeks stained pink.   
  
He cleared his throat carefully to try to alleviate the uncomfortable tension. "So, erm, how long have you been employed here?"   
  
Janey looked up from where she had began toying with the hem of her khaki apron. "I just started yesterday. I'm Jane."   
  
Jake held out his hand, which she nervously put her own into. He bent his head and kissed the back of it gently, sending her face crimson. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Janey. My name is Jake."   
  
Roxy came back out with a paper coffee cup in a cardboard sleeve, shoving it into Jake's free hand. She reached around Jane to open the cash register, having the money removed from her hands by the brunette.   
  
Jane sighed, opening the drawer and counting back the change into Jake's hand. When she had finished, he dumped the money into the scarce tip jar and left without another word.

* * *

A while later, Jake was heading toward the end of an L-shaped alley, to the ruined doors of a basement access of the building it butted against. Or so it would seem.   
  
The street-facing building had no such basement. Little did the empress know, there was an intricate network of tunnels running under the New Alternian capital city. Jake followed the familiar path, unbothered by the complete darkness as he moved further from the entrance to the tunnels, arriving at a familiar iron door, indistinguishable from the wall it was set in. He rapped on it with the side of his knuckles until the peep-bar slid open. I will not even dignify the word 'peephole' with its 'rightful' usage. It was a bar that opened, not a hole. A bar of warm electric light, almost blinding after Jake had allowed his eyes to adjust as well as they could to the crushing blackness. It illuminated the face that peered out, yellow irises almost glowing.   
  
A moment later it was open, and Jake wasted no time before stepping in and closing the door behind him. The door's opener was staring at him with a dead, happy expression. The painted face was smiling evenly. A hand raised half-hardheartedly in wave, which Jake returned with the whole of his collapsing blood pumping organ.   
  
"What's happening, motherfucker?" Gamzee asked.   
  
Jake nodded with a grin. "Good day, Makara. Have you any idea where the elder Miss Maryam might be found?"   
  
Gamzee looked at Jake for a moment before understanding the connection, or perhaps he was just enjoying the time he could spend thinking without any rushing for answers. He eventually raised his hand to elbow height, pointing down a hallway to the base's computer lab. Jake thanked him before heading to the room in question.   
  
Sollux, the mighty creater of the detonator Jake had used only an hour prior, was sitting at his desk, typing on his husktop. The device was connected into the mainframe, three other monitors monitoring important things that Jake was never really able to take any form of genuine interest in. The yellow blood was staring boredly at the main screen, somehow able to catch any and all flaws in the binary code that was rushing through the screen without making a mistake while the young lady Jake had come to find was... flirting? Jake didn't know. He never understood troll relationships to an incredible extent.   
  
"Hello, Porrim, Sollux." He greeted jubiantly.   
  
Sollux barely afforded him a glance before continuing his work.   
  
Porrim smiled, lip piercing catching the light in the process. "Jake, you're back. I trust you were successful?"   
  
"Right, I just came to file the report."   
  
Porrim hopped off the table, retrieving a folder with the month and year written on it. She was about to hand it to Jake when she spotted something on the side of his forehead, almost hidden by the curve of his hairline. She ran her thumb over the fine black hairs, feeling Jake go rigid beneath her touch. He had a laceration about an inch long, fairly deep, glass particles still visible in the skin next to the wound. Clicking her tongue in a disapproving manner, Porrim tossed the folder back until it landed softly on the table behind her. She swiped her tongue across the pad of her thumb. "I'll file the report. You just go to the infirmary and have Kanni fix you up."   
  
"Thank you, I would sure appreciate that." Jake said before absconding from the room. However much he would prefer to not go through Kankri's whole medical affair and what it entaled, anything was better than paperwork. It was best not to pass up opportunities such as this. Besides, there was always the off chance that Kanaya would be able to do it. The woman worked miracles in the medical field, and unlike Kankri did not go into great depth over the things Jake could have done to avoid being injured.   
  
Jake knew the halls of this facility well. He could walk them blind folded, but that was just a result of spending virtually his entire life inside their walls. When he was born, and after the death of his parents, he was raised by his grandmother. She had introduced him immediately to the lifestyle she had built for herself, being one of the founding members of their organization. It was when he was six that several members were culled violently in a public execution, a sign to their organization that _S)(-E_ wouldn't stand for their interference. Such thoughts always dampened Jake's mood, but that was the way it was for them.   
  
When someone walked out that door, you could only hope they would return. And sometimes that meant hoping in vain.   
  
That's how it was when you were part of the Skaian Resistance. "Keep Calm and Strife On!" as the poster hanging up in Jake's respiteblock read. It was really all anyone could do.   
  
The door to the medical wing was open, Kankri's red-sweatered form taking up a portion of the vision window. The other things in sight included a shirtless Cronus on one of the tables used for examination, Kankri stitching a violet-oozing gash on his back stretching from shoulder to grubscar. It looked as though Cronus was getting the full Kankri treatment, lecture and all. And poof! A wild Latula sat on a chair a little ways away from them, nursing a headwound with a bag of ice, her other hand doing some sort of phone activity on her cell phone.   
  
"Ah, so I see the Bard of Hope has graced us with his presence." Jake said casually.   
  
Cronus turned his head around to face Jake, shooting him a lopsided grin, lopsidery due in part to the unlit cigarette wedged between pointed teeth.   
  
Kankri looked back at Jake, nodding politely, which Jake returned. Latula opted for a totally rad wave of her two claws that weren't required for her ever-so-important cell phoning.   
  
"I will be able to assist you in a moment, Jake. Please do not take offense at my not doing so more promptly, but I am currently occupied with another injury."   
  
"None at all. Please take all the time you need." The human replied before sitting in one of the spare chairs, silently cursing that Kanaya was nowhere in sight.   
  
"We wouldn't even need to treat any injuries if _somebody_ wasn't so reckless." Latula pointed out.   
  
"Hey!" Cronus defended. "They were askin' for it."   
  
"Cronus, please try to remain immobile while I am giving medical care to you. It would be troublesome if your stitches were to split again before they are completed." Kankri scolded, eyeing Latula for a moment after she scoffed at the royalblood's excuse.   
  
Cronus smirked at the medic. "Anyfin for you, chief." He winked at Kankri, who immediately became flustered, mumbling about his celibacy and the lack of warning for potentially triggering words and actions.   
  
After having a needle pass through the skin of his forehead a few times, Jake ended up partaking in a microwavable human dinner and showering his day away. No sooner after he had put on a pair of pajama pants and collapsed backwards onto his bed did he hear the next door neighbors.   
  
It was a little giggle, the slamming of a door, followed by noises that were, shall we say, best not made in polite company. Or in less-than-polite company. Almost any company at all, really.   
  
Jake rapped on the wall for quiet, hearing a pause in Mituna and Latula's actions before they resumed, a few laughs punctuating the stilled night air. Jake sighed, rolling over and trying to ignore the sounds of the nearby unmentionable deeds. C'est la vie, as the French said.  
  
But right now, the French could stuff it for all he cared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you say "filler"?


	3. Act 3

John drummed his fingers on the side of his binder, looking out the classroom window for some sort of distraction from the melancholy of Algebra II. He felt a brief vibrating against his thigh, interrupting his musing. After first checking to make sure that the teacher was still distracted with the board, John retrieved his phone and read the pester from Dave, who was currently chilling like a cool kid on the other side of the room.

turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 2:48.

TG: hey are we going to your house after school

John typed a quick reply.

EB: yeah. if class ever ends.   
TG: john this lovely ladytroll is being paid minimum wage to educate us show some goddamn respect   
EB: but she hates us.   
TG: fair point i relent   
EB: so...   
TG: so what   
EB: how's it going with jade?   
TG: i guess you didnt hear the news   
EB: what news?   
TG: were getting married   
TG: i just couldnt spend another second without her by my side   
TG: in the holiest of matrimonies   
TG: my only hope is that youll agree to be the best man   
TG: and weve decided that because you have been there for us this entire time that we would name our son after you   
TG: oh yeah jades pregnant too   
TG: forgot to tell you that   
TG: will you ever find it in your heart to forgive me for my failures as a friend   
EB: you know, i could just ask jade how it's going with you two.   
TG: its fine john jegus   
EB: jegus?   
TG: damn it jesus   
EB: have you even been over to her house?   
TG: no she said her grandpas kind of weird with company   
EB: well, you'll want to get along with the in-laws. make it easier on your girlfriend.   
TG: shes not my girlfriend

The shrill ring of the school bell redirected John's attention. He stuffed his phone back into his pocket and grabbed his binder, following the wave of students out of the room. He shoved his otherwise useless materials into his locker and pulled out his backpack before getting his homework for the evening. John looked down the hallway to where Dave was at his own locker, Jade talking his ear off with an animated smile.

Closing the narrow metal door and spinning the dial, John approached them, getting a happy "Hey John!" from Dave's not-girlfriend.

"Hey Jade. Are you ready to go, Dave?"

Strider closed his locker, backpack draped casually over his right shoulder. The change in the glint off of his sunglasses was the only indicator of his slight nod.

"Bye guys!" Jade said, having a bus to catch.

"Bye Jade." John replied.

"Later, Harley." Dave said suavely.

"See you tomorrow Dave!" Jade called as she began scurrying down the hallway.

Dave watched her go down the hallway, until John jerked him out of it. "You coming?"

"Yeah." But the blonde made no inclination to move until Jade turned the corner of the hallway and disappeared from sight. Then he started walking to another set of doors, the ones pointing in the general direction of John's house and marked the beginning of the route there.

"You're blushing." John said quietly, wincing slightly after Dave's fist connected with the flesh of his arm.

The first hint of anything being out of the ordinary after their relatively boring walk to John's house was the door. The door to the ordinary house in the suburbs was open. No, not open. More like it had been ripped off of one hinge after someone snapped the deadbolt with the force of kicking it open. Because when John rushed to the front door, that's exactly what seemed to have happened. His backpack slid from his arm and Dave's cries of warning were ignored as he ran through the rooms, ripping into every room his father might be in. The living room, garage, and office were all empty. The entire house was trashed, furniture overturned and objects busted.

That left the kitchen.

John threw open the door, seeing that the kitchen had been hit the worst. The oven door hung open, refrigerator toppled. In the middle of the floor sat a fushia note, obviously intended for John to find. He fell to his knees, knowing who it was from already. The choking cloud of glitter made it obvious.

BY ORDER OF )(-ER IMP-ERIOUS COND-ESC-ENSION,   
T)(IS R-ESID-ENC-E )(AS B-E-EN S-EARC)(-ED FOR -EVID-ENC-E OF )(-EINOUS ACTIVITY. PL-EAS-E IGNOR-E ALL DAMAG-ES AND MISSING P-ERSONS WITH T)(-E KNOWL-EDGE T)(AT ALL IS W-ELL.   
)(AIL T)(-E -EMPR-ESS

John crumpled the notice in his hand, entire body shaking as he shoved his tears back into their little crying ducts where they wouldn't fall. Dave's hand landed on his shoulder, and John let out gasping sobs.

"She took him." John muttered. "That... that... _WITCH_!"

Dave held out his hand, having the letter shoved roughly into it.

"Um, John?" Dave said. "You might want to reread this."

"What?" John snatched the paper, seeing what Dave was referring to. On the backside was something in his father's impeccable handwriting.

SON   
YOU ARE THE MAN OF THE HOUSE NOW. IF YOU NEED ANY HELP WITH YOUR NEW DUTIES, ASK YOUR GRANDMOTHER.   
I AM SO PROUD OF YOU.

John reread the note several times, trying to make sense of it.

"I guess we should probably call your grandma or something." Dave said awkwardly.

John shook his head. "My nanna's been dead for thirteen years. Her ashes are on the-" He stopped as realization hit him like a cold wave. He ran past Dave and back into the living room, checking the mantelpiece for an object that had been there his entire life. Miraculously, his nanna's urn was still there and untouched. He grabbed it, feeling the slight stick of something that hasn't moved in a long time as he removed it from its place. The top screwed off with some difficulty, giving Dave enough time to appearify and ask John a question.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Asking my grandmother for help." John grunted out. The top came off, and he plunged his hand into his nanna's remains and trying not to cringe. His fingertips touched a stiff piece of paper, which he pulled out and read aloud.

"'Son, if you are reading this, I have been taken by the empress for reasons I cannot tell you in this note. There are some old friends of mine I would like you to find. They can help you with what lies ahead. By following these instructions, you are well on your way to becoming a man. I am so, so, so proud of you.'" Below that were instructions to what John's dad referred to as only 'the base' on a path that went down town.

The boys shared a look.

"Do we go?" John asked.

Dave scoffed. "Do we have any choice?"

* * *

"Is that ninety steps?" John asked, shining the flashlight ahead of him.

"Considering it's exactly on the corner in a labyrinth of sewage systems, I'm gonna go with yes."

"Forty-seven, forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty!" John turned to his left, where there final destination was supposed to be. However, the only thing immediately visible to the eye was a monotonous wall.

John approached the wall pressing his hand to the grimy stone. He slid his palm over it, feeling a sudden hitch. The steely grey brick transferred to steely grey steel, impossible to notice in the dim light. John found the center of the door and knocked on it.

The peep-hole slid open to reveal brighter light and a pair of lazy yellow-irised eyes peered at the before it closed again and the door opened fully.

John and Dave stepped into the base, amazed at the change in setting. The tunnels had been dim, cold, dark. Now they were surrounded by impressive hallways and gas lamps.

"Uh, who is it, Gamzee?" A voice called. A troll with rather large horns and in a wheelchair turned around from where he was seated at what looked like an arts and crafts table, catching sight of the boys.

"Hi, we were told to come here. Someone here is supposed to help us." John said nervously.

"Oh, are you agents from another branch?" The troll asked, a relieved smile on his face.

John turned to Dave, who merely shrugged. "Um, no. We aren't really sure where we are. We just got directions to get here."

The troll's face had visibly tightened, forcing back a panic attack that was coming on. "Gamzee?" Another tall troll pushed between John and Dave from where he had stood behind them without their notice. He was the one who had opened the door, John realized.

"What can I do you for this fine day, Tavbro?" Gamzee asked lazily.

"Could you show these two to block 209, please?"

"Sure thing. Anything for my invertebrother." Gamzee looked back at John and Dave. "And bros to be." He amended.

Gamzee gripped the handles on the back of the other troll's wheelchair, pushing him off in one direction.

"Get your move all up and on motherfuckers." He instructed.

Looking at each other with confusion for a second, John and Dave followed.

They didn't encounter anyone else on their route, which ended with another door, indicated number above it. Gamzee opened the door, sweeping into a bow while holding it.

John and Dave both entered, the former thanking Gamzee and the latter grunting out something along the same lines as he regarded the troll suspiciously.

The room was completely dark, that is, up until the point that Gamzee slammed the door behind them and several lights flicked on. The room was completely bare, cement floor and grey brick walls. The door had a small window through which they could still see Gamzee's relaxed smile, but bars ran down that.

They had been led into a prison cell.

Outside room 209, however, the large horned troll was hyperventilating and Gamzee was paping his back in a rather soothing manner.

"Oh, what did we just do? Did that just happen? Oh gog, what do we do?" He asked frantically.

"Just let me know when you feel up to carrying out motherfucking operations." Gamzee said.

The other troll began to breathe less erratically, nodding at the suggestion.

"Okay, just follow procedure. Everything's going to be fine."

"What's going to be fine?" A voice said from behind him, startling the wheelchair-bound troll.

"Rufioh!" He shrieked in surprise.

"Hey Tavros." Rufioh replied nonchalantly, wings twitching the slightest. "What's going on, little man?"

"Well, um, these two humans came to the door, and when we let them in," Tavros began to explain.


	4. Act 4

Rufioh Nitram was an ideal resistance agent. Loyal, clever, brave, confident, probably the most charismatic troll you could ever meet, all that crap. But of course, no one wants to hear positive traits. Those are boring. Now flaws, those are what interest you uncultured swine enough to search for a character's weakness and try and work out important pieces of plot development before it happens, so you can have your little 'I knew it was going to happen!' moment all to yourself, maybe get your friend to read it and shove their nose in that one moment. But shut up for a second.

Now, back to Rufioh. He had weakness, sure. But he wouldn't let you know. Here's one of them (though Rufioh would never in a million Earth years say so himself): he had wings. Right now, you are probably imagining yourself with sick ass wings. You'd be flying around, never having to drive, maybe become a superhero, perhaps use them to enslave mankind. But what would that do to you in reality? Your entire life after that would be labs, hospital rooms, endless tests, your lusus watching from a distance with a disposable eye liquid cloth in their claws, wondering what made this happen. Yes, reality really is this shitty.

Or perhaps they would be seen as a mutation that connected you to a shitstorm of illegal activity that could get you killed by the current government power.

The only troll besides Rufioh to ever develop wings was one who rose to power in the cavalreapers, then disappeared mysteriously, coinciding to the day with the public execution of the Sufferer, though Her Condescension had issued that such event never happened, and there never was a red blooded troll. This troll was known by legend as the Summoner. He had long forsaken his given name in favor of this title. He was also the troll Rufioh had, and still, looked up to his entire existence.

As Rufioh marched in the manner of a trained Imperial soldier down the hallways of the resistance base, he thought none of these things that have been displayed in the previous three paragraphs. He thought only of what Tavros had told him, and what this might mean for them.

As he approached the office of the leader of the Skaian Resistance, he heard, and cringed slightly at, infuriated yelling. Sucking in a breath, Rufioh knocked on the door and immediately heard the screaming cease.

"Come in." The leader said from inside, and Rufioh turned the door knob and stepped into the office, closing the door behind him.

The field agent who had been doing the shouting was sitting in a chair, claws digging into the armrests.

Across the desk from his was a troll who had long since forsaken his given name in favor of his title. The Summoner's muscular arms were crossed behind his head, leaning back in his seat, a position he had probably been in for a while whilst listening to the rather loud rant.

"Important information, sir." Rufioh said, indicating that his message couldn't wait.

The Summoner nodded. "If you'll excuse us, Karkat."

The agent sat up straight from where he had slumped, face livid. "Are you fucking kidding me!? You're brushing me off now, of course. Thank you, sir, for communing with us peasants who work our asses off for nothing. Oh, wait. That's just me! Everyone else is trying to get their head out of their nook and not get themselves killed!"

"I am not brushing you off, Karkat. I'm asking you to wait."

"Because I'm not important! I'm below basically everyone on the chain of command! Even Mituna is higher up than me!" And with that, Karkat stood up, pushed past Rufioh, and stomped to his block to stew for a few hours while watching romantic comedies alone.

The Summoner buried his head in his claws, letting out a heavy breath. "You said it was important, Rufioh?"

"I think we may have inruders, sir."

Their dignified leader became stiff. "Run that by me again?"

"Intruders. Tavros and Gamzee managed to get them into 209."

* * *

Dave had his back against the wall, listening to music from his phone. Not one of his best mixes, but it managed to block out John's anxious questions to no one in particular, as well as his own thoughts. Well, not quite those. Music can only be so loud.

Why don't they call for help? Because there's no service underground, dumbass. Oh. That exact conversation had played between the two of them a few minutes before.

Dave didn't see hear the door open, preoccupied as he was. Only noticed the halt in John's pacing. When he looked up, he saw a troll carrying a metal folding chair under his arm. John merely stood where he had stopped, staring. Dave almost rolled his eyes at his friend.

Pausing the song and removing the earbuds, Dave began to tune into what the troll was saying.

"-is Rufioh, and I'm just here to ask you two a few questions. Please relax," he laughed light heartedly. "I'm sorry, I know you dudes are probably freaked out. The whole lock and key thing is pretty trippy."

Rufioh unfolded the chair and set it down, sitting on it.

"Okay, to start with, do you actually know where you are?"

John opened his mouth to reply, but Dave quickly cut him off.

"Don't say anything, John. He's probably with the Empress." Stony silence fell on the room.

Rufioh laughed again, trying to clear the inhospitable mood that would soon set in. "Woah, I'm guessing you guys aren't fans of the monarchy."

"And you are?" Dave retorted.

Rufioh felt a clenching in his chest. This interogation was going downhill. Quickly. But he could still save it. "I don't have an opinion. Best not to get into politi-"

"Bullshit." Dave interrupted. "Everyone has an opinion on what that hag is doing."

The humor was all but gone from Rufioh's voice. "You seem to know about things you shouldn't."

Dave scoffed. "Like that's going to make me talk, getting me to show off how much I know. My bro told me to never tell shit to Imperials. Innocent or guilty, it doesn't matter to you."

Rufioh stared at the wide black surface of Dave's shades before speaking again. "Just a few more questions, for John, was it?" He specified. "How did you find this place?"

John dug his hand into his pocket, pulling out a starchy white card, written on in stark black ink and dusted in a layer of a grainy grey substance.

Rufioh's eyes scanned it. "Who gave this to you?"

"My dad, well, he wrote me a coded message of where to find it."

Rufioh put it in his pocket, making a mental note to have Sollux run it for fingerprints.

"And what are your names? If that's not giving away far too much information."

"John Egbert."

Rufioh cocked one eyebrow then looked at the blond boy, he was yet to budge.

"And what's your friend's name, John?" Rufioh asked gently.

John looked back at Dave, who had barely moved, but the slight shift in his nose allowed John to see the edge of one crimson iris over the frames. Dave was staring at John, seeing what he would do.

John gulped before replying. "Dave Strider."

That seemed to stir something in Rufioh. "Well, I will check with my superiors and see about getting you two released."

Rufioh rose and left the room, letting the chair be the only decoration in the grey brick expanse.

The moment the door was closed, they were upon him.

"Let me see the note." The Summoner said, reading it and examining the immaculate writing.

"He said Egbert. Is he..?" Aradia asked, having become part of the watching crowd outside the room.

The Summoner nodded grimly. "The note's real. But we don't know that they are."

"Well, he also said Strider. We know where he is, which is here. He'll be able to tell us." Rufioh reasoned.

* * *

John was pacing again. Only this time, he was apologizing every few seconds to Dave.

"John, if we are going to be in questioning rooms in the future, you need to know when not to talk."

"But I don't think they're Imperials, Dave. My dad wanted me to come here, and this whole base doesn't seem," he tried to find the right world. "Legal."

They both froze at the sound of the door unlocking. The handle turned, and in walked the first human they had seen since going underground.

"Dave, what the fuck are you doing here?"

And so began another explanation of the events leading up to that moment, Dirk's face growing more grim.

When John finished, Dirk stood up and walked to the window. He tapped on it a few times. "Hey, could I get a little privacy?" He waited a few moments, still faced away from them. "I always knew you would get sucked into this Dave, you little shit. And John, I thought you might be his son."

"Bro?" Dave asked. "What the fuck are you going on about."

Dirk smirked and chuckled. His hand found the door handle and he opened it, waving for them to follow him. "Walk with me."

They both began following Dirk through the hallways, passing through many public rooms with trolls walking about, socializing.

"Boys, welcome to the headquarters of the Skaian Resistance. The strongest organized force against the Condesce."

They both looked around. They were passing through what looked like a kitchen/dining room, its only occupants being two female trolls who were chattering excitedly about, drawing(?), and a male troll slumped in his seat with his arms crossed over his chest. His entire face seemed to be contorted with anger. His eyes met John's aggressively, and the human looked away.

Dirk noticed this interaction, however. "Stop flirting John, we've got shit to do."

John gasps out what can only be called a flustuffle. "Mr. Strider, there is absolutely nothing wrong with homosexuals, but I am _not_ one."

Dirk laughed. "I was talking about Nepeta over there, giving you the eye." He jerked his thumb in the direction of one of the females, blue cat-shaped hat covering her head. She waved excitedly, showing the sleeves of her olive coat to be far too long.

"Oh." John blushed.

"Yeah. And it's Dirk. None of that 'Mr. Strider' bullshit."

When they had gone past the kitchen area, Nepeta turned back to her table companions with a fire in her eyes that they knew well. "I ship it."

Karkat shot her a dirty look. " _What_ do you ship?"

She only giggled in reply.

"Now John, you're probably aware at this point that your father was somehow involved in the resistance."

"Is he alright?"

Dirk sighed. "I don't know."

"When can I go home?"

"You can't, John. The moment you picked up that note with instructions, you were doomed. You know more than you should, and you are now a wanted man. Welcome to the resistance."

"But you said my dad 'was' in the resistance."

"John, as much as I would like to give you a history lesson right now, it's late. You should be getting to bed."

"Where are we going to..?"

"Here." Dirk stopped them in front of two doors, creating a monotonous pattern in the entire hallway, which had doors spaced every forty feet or so, two doors next to each other. He rapped his knuckles on this particular pair before opening them in unison. "John," he pointed into one. "And Dave." He indicated the other.

"These will be your rooms, and neither of you will leave the base at any time without permission, or I will beat the living shit out of you. Bathrooms are fully equipped with everything you need, I'll have clothes brought to you tomorrow. Good-night."

"Good-night, Dirk."

"Night, Bro."

When he had left, Dave turned to John. "You realize we're fucked, right?"

"Yep."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because who doesn't love a filler? But wait, a hint of JohnKat perhaps?  
> Review and tell me what you think!


	5. Act 5

John was barely able to sleep that night. He tossed and turned constantly, thoughts crashing into his mind violently until about 1, when he took a sleeping pill from the cabinet in his bathroom. An alarm began blaring at 6:00 A.M., or stupid-o-clock as some might refer to it. But this wasn't a clock and bedside table alarm. It was more like the alarm on a submarine when it's trying to tell you that has a leak and everyone inside is going to die a violent death being crushed by a few million pounds of sea water.

Likewise, it wasn't equipped with a snooze button, or even coming from a device with such capabilities. It was coming from a speaker built into the wall above John's bed.

He groaned and rolled over, falling off the bed in the process. After taking a moment to wonder what the hell was wrong with the overwhelming noise, the events of the day before crashed into him.

Someone knocked at his door, making him realize something crazy: there were people up at this ungogly hour.

John opened his door groggily, seeing the face of the troll who had given him 'the eye' the night before. Nepeta. She was holding a folded stack of the clothes Dirk had promised, and John quickly became aware that his wearing only his boxers to bed was doing absolutely nothing to conceal the rather critical case of nocturnal penile tumescence. His eyes widened and cheeks turned dark pink.

Nepeta began giggling at him. "You're John, right?"

"Yeah. Nepeta?"

She nodded and held out the stack of clothes, which John took and held at just below waist height, with good reason.

"Well, it was nice to meet you, but I really need to be going." John closed his bedroom door, leaving Nepeta to release the full-blown laughter she had been holding back.

* * *

"Alright, if you have any questions about the resistance, you had better damn well ask them now." Dirk instructed.

John began to speak, only getting out a single incomprehensible vowel before he was cut off.

"Op! Please save all questions for the end of the tour. Follow." Dirk began leading them down yet another set of seemingly endless hallways, turning every so often.

"Now, the resistance is, like I said before, the greatest organized threat to the Condesce. You know those news stories about mines caving in when no one is in them, factories blowing up with no workers inside, Imperial ships catching fire when their crews are away? They're not accidents. We're the ones who get everyone out, set the explosives, get past security, and push the little red button. The random-assed criminals with trillions of booonbucks on their heads."

"Wait, you're telling me you have a fucking bounty on your head and you somehow don't get murdered." Dave said. "What the fuck? Seriously, just what the fuck."

"Because, _little brother_ , we have disguises and code names. I believe you are both acquainted with the Prince of Heart?"

"Mass serial killer and 'treasonist'. You're telling me he's part of the resistance?" Dave said skeptically.

"You're looking at him."

"But, who's the Page of Hope?" John asked.

"My teammate, Jake. You'll meet him soon enough. Now, the organization's main goal is to slow down the Condesce's works. Major building projects, heavy tax collecting in impoverished neighborhoods, we find out about operations, and we stop them."

" _How_ do you find out about them?" John asked.

"Not everyone is a field agent. We have hackers, a technician, weapons experts, doctors, a teacher, several informants, and of course our leader."

"Who's the leader?"

"Why don't you ask him that yourself in about 30 seconds?" Dirk said, and John realized that they had stopped in front of a door, this one with a name plate on it. 'The Summoner' it said, carved in brass. Dirk knocked, and a voice inside granted them entry.

Dirk turned the handle, and John and Dave followed him inside. The office had two chairs set before a desk, behind which was a troll who bore a striking resemblance to the one who had more or less interrogated them the day before.

"Sir, this is my little brother, and the Egberts' son. Dave, John, this is the Summoner, leader of the resistance."

"Hello, boys. Please, take a seat." He gestured to the chairs, which they both sat down in. Dirk stood between them, a hand on each chair back.

"Now, Dirk told me what happened, and the thing is, John, I know you are worried about your father. But the chances of rescuing him are very low. I think you should be aware of that."

John was staring down into his lap, tears brimming his eyes. "I thought so. But, what did they want him for?"

"Information." The Summoner replied simply. "However, this is very serious for us. We could have a security breach, or they finally matched the pieces of your mother and grandmother's deaths.

"Now, on to other business. My main question is this: Will you two become agents? Dave?"

Dave shrugged. "Sure."

"John?"

John mulled it over for a moment before coming to a conclusion. "Yes."

The Summoner clapped his hands enthusiastically, making John and Dave flinch. "Wonderful. Tavros will show you around the base, and we'll get you your code names."

* * *

"And this, is the, um," Tavros stuttered.

"Tavbro?" Gamzee interrupted. "If I might be able to help my bro out, this is the block for chilling the fuck down."

"That's right, thanks Gamzee. This is the rumpusblock, where you can relax when you're off duty."

Dave dragged a hand over his face, suppressing a groan. So far, their tour fucking sucked. They had been following Gamzee and Tavros in circles for ten minutes. So far they had seen the entrance area, three more hallways of bedrooms, occupied rooms having decorated doors, weapons room, and the previously mentioned empty rec room.

"This is the hungerblock, where you get food and eat." They passed the room they had seen the night before, a few trolls in pajamas sitting at tables and eating breakfast.

"Where is everyone?" John asked.

"Most of them are still sleeping, or working, or they don't live here full-time."

"Wait, how the fuck are they sleeping? I'm pretty sure I got the same dying whale as everyone else this morning." Dave said, irritably.

Tavros shrugged. "They, um, probably had their news blasters turned off."

"What? I could have turned off that siren song personally delivered by Satan and no one told me?" Dave demanded.

Tavros nodded, biting his lip.

"You know what, this is just fuc-"

"Shut up." Though Gamzee had no more than muttered the words, not even turning around, the effect they had was evident. Tavros was stock still and stiff, John seeing this as warning of danger.

Unfortunately, Dave wasn't as easily swayed by basic instinct to survive. "What?"

"I SAID SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Gamzee's hands tightened around the handles of Tavros's wheelchair in a death grip.

"Uh, Gamzee," Tavros started to say, voice trembling.

"Motherfuckers need to be nice to each other. MOTHERFUCKERS NEED TO LEARN HOW TO GET ALONG!"

"Okay, dude just chi-" Dave didn't finish his sentence, because Gamzee whipped around and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, pinning him against the wall.

"Gamzee!" Someone shouted from the end of the hallway. It was the troll from the night before, who had stared John down aggressively and was not Nepeta. He was wearing grey flannel pajama bottoms and a black long-sleeved shirt with a symbol on it in grey that looked suspiciously like a sexual position represented by a number. And now John was thinking about sex positions while staring at the troll. Fantastic.

The troll stomped over to Gamzee, resting his palms on the sides of his shoulders. Gamzee was shocked at the contact, turning around with what could only be described as a snarl.

The troll started whispering in Gamzee's ear while simultaneously patting Gamzee's upper arms.

After a few seconds, Gamzee's hands let go of Dave, and the other troll started to lead him away down the hallway.

"Uh, thanks, Karkat." Tavros called.

"There's another Strider douchebag walking around here, it was only expected that they would cause royal shit flippery that I would have to clean up." Karkat replied. "Meet me at the pile when you're done with this, Gamzee might need you."

When Karkat and Gamzee had left, Tavros began rolling himself to their next tour destination.

Dave seemed content to act as though everything were normal, so John gave him a friendly helpful elbow to the rib cage. Dave shot John what he assumed to be a dirty look.

"Listen, I'm sorry about that. I shouldn't have gotten mad at you." Dave said to Tavros with as much sincerity as he was able to muster up for the occasion.

"It's fine."

A computer room and several offices belonging to people that John realized would take him quite some time to remember the names of, they reached what Tavros said was their stop, the Disciple's room. He knocked on the door, waiting for an answer.

It opened only a crack, an olive green eye looking them up and down before it was thrown open.

"Tavros," the tall female troll said. "It's lovely to see you again. Who're your friends?"

"New recruits, the Summoner wanted them to learn the scripture and get their tiers from you."

"Of course, come in boys."

John and Dave stepped in, eyes darting to the paintings on the walls.

"These are amazing." John breathed, staring at them.

"Thank you. Would you care to learn their story?"

John nodded, and the Disciple gestured for them to sit at a fire in the center of the room. She turned off the lights and threw a bundle of dry grass on the flames, lighting up the drawings.

"Long ago, on the home planet of trolls, Alternia," she began. "A very special grub hatched from his egg. He survived the trials in the breeding caverns, but found that none of the great creatures known as lusii would accept him. For this grub had a peculiar blood color. A bright red blood, a mutated color.

"He escaped the caverns alone, but would surely die were it not for one of the jade bloods, the keepers of the Mother Grub, who discovered this grub all alone. Forsaking her duties completely, she raised the grub. She became something to him that was an alien concept to my kind. A mother. She was called the Dolorosa. The grub grew and learned, and he began to remember things. Things that had never happened. He saw a world where there was peace, where blood was blood and nothing more, where all were equal.

"The troll began to tell his visions to all who would listen. He made a name for himself, the Signless. He soon found himself a faithful follower, his Disciple. It is said they shared a matespritship that transcended the definition of the quadrant. She recorded each and every one of his teachings. He also flourished in the pale quadrant, his morail, though I suppose best friend is a term you're more familiar with. He was a powerful psionic, with psychic abilities like none had ever seen before. The Signless began to attract great crowds. Time wore on, and the Empress learned of him.

"The Executer Darkleer was sent to kill the Signless and his Disciple. The Signless was beaten before he was taken away for his public torture and eventual death.

"His Disciple watched from the crowds, breaking free of the restraining grasp of her friends, and knelt at her matesprit's side. Darkleer was next to capture her. Instead, he told her to leave. Leave the land and never return, else he be forced to kill her as well. At the urging and pleading of her beloved, the Disciple ran. The Psiioniic was taken to the Empress and put to work against his will, his gifts being twisted to her advantage.

"Red blood spilled that day. The Signless's love for his people was turned to a horrible anger. A word rang out for all to hear, and the Signless delivered his final sermon before he died. Of course, he was no longer the Signless to the masses. For all he had endured for them, for the shape of the shackles that had bound him and burned as red as his blood, he was the Sufferer.

"His mother was forced to watch him die. Afterwards, she was placed into the slavery to a pirate. It is rumored she was killed after." The Disciple wiped a tear from her eyes. "And thus is the story of the Sufferer, whom our entire resistance is founded upon."

She looked between the two of them. "I believe I am also to tell you your tiers, as well." She focused on Dave. "Your hand, please. And remove your glasses."

Dave held out his hand to her, but his shades remained on.

She took it, tracing the lines in his palm. "David Elizabeth Strider, as afraid of letting someone see you for who you truly are as your brother was, if not more so." She commented. Very suddenly and making Dave cry out in surprise, she struck him in the center of the palm with one of her claws. Red blood surfaced, and she swiped it away and flicked the drop into the fire. She gazed at the flames intensely, as though searching for answers from their fluid form.

"He who equips himself with the progression of physical existence. You are the fated Knight of Time." She said, watching the flames shiver and sway.

She held out her hand to John, who let her take it, albeit reluctantly. She followed the lines with her eyes, occasionally drawing shapes. Her brow furrowed. "John Egbert. You once lived a carefree life, but now you are concerned about what your father has kept from you all this time. Regarding his role with our agency. Your path to greatness will be tough, but fulfilling."

She pierced the skin of John's hand, a bit more gently than she had with Dave, and threw the first collective drop into the fire.

"He who protects himself or is protected by the path, draw, and passion of direction. The Heir of Breath."


	6. Intermission 1

Aranea tilted the beverage in its glass, watching the red liquid leave a slight tint where it had been a moment before and the frozen hydroshape follow the outline of the bottom. She sighed, slumping further over the table she was occupying. She glanced about the room, observing the trolls, all of whom were high on the hemospectrum. An exclusive club, reserved for those of nobler blood. Nothing lower than cobalt, like her own. And even then, they needed connections.

She'd only been here twice before, sometimes needing some relief from the stress of her job. Meenah was lovely, just kind of, well, _spirited_. Of course, it was work and it payed well.

The owner came out, announcing the singing act. Many of the regulars clapped, but the audience was generally still. _Slow night_. Aranea noted. But she clapped anyways. It was only polite.

The performer took the stage, black and green form fitting dress flowing like water around her. Piercings dotted her eyebrows and lip. Her entire body was marked with tattoos in intricate, elegant, swirling patterns. But they weren't the blood tattoos that highbloods often bore as trophies of kills, these were of actual ink. Art from beauty, rather than that of destruction and death. She moved to center stage, grabbing the talk rod from the stand and swinging the cord around a few times as she slowly paced the stage. Aranea, from her seat close to the stage, saw that the singer's irises were in a cloudy state between a young troll's grey and changing into a verdant, faded effect. A green blood, Aranea surmised.

"Good evening, everyone." The singer drew out the syllables, trying to incite some sort of reaction. When that failed, she voiced her complaints. "Now that's no way to behave. Honestly, I've seen humans with better manners."

A few laughs came out of the air, even bringing the corners of Aranea's mouth upward, but not nearly enough for the singer's tastes. "Alright, quiet down, please. It really wasn't that funny." She said sarcastically. "But seeing how my pathetic attempts at comedy are lost and never to return, I might as well do the whole singing thing they pay me for."

She nodded to the stringboard player and the heavy mournful tune took off. Her voice rang throughout the room, gliding into Aranea's auricular canal and dancing a sorrowful waltz. Though the singer sang no comprehensible words, she didn't need to. The story was clearly conveyed to Aranea, stirring her heart.

Was it..? No, it couldn't be. Without thinking, she gripped her pendant from where it usually hid beneath her dress collar, feeling the loops of the rotational symmetry. There's no way anyone would risk it, in here of all places.

The song ended, and hearty applause followed. The performer enthralled Aranea for reasons she couldn't explain, despite the boldness in her first song choice. So much so that she stayed long into the night to watch the entire show, sitting on the edge of her seat all the while. It was only when the manager announced the end of the first performance that she realized how late it had gotten.

Porrim Maryam, Aranea caught her name this time. Leaving her empty glass and a few boondollars on the table, she moved out the front door past the bouncer and velvet rope and into the back alley.

Gathering her courage, Aranea rapped her knuckles on the steel back door, waiting for someone on the inside to open it.

As it turned out, she needn't wait long. The door was opened not a moment later by the very troll she was hoping to speak to.

Porrim's lovely face looked at her, silently offering the right of speaking first.

"Oh, um, Ms. Maryam, was it? I-"

"Please, call me Porrim." She interrupted, gentle smile all the while on her black lips.

Aranea tried to return it for a moment before surrendering to her own nerves. "Porrim, I just wanted to tell you that I thought your performance was wonderful. Especially your first song. There was so much meaning, it was beautiful." As she spoke, Aranea's anxious excitement subsided into a polite, even tone.

"Why, thank you. It's always good to be told that. What was your name?"

"Aranea."

"It was nice to meet you, Aranea, but I have to be getting back." Porrim jerked her thumb in the direction of the back door, which was still open.

"Oh, okay." Aranea brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, trying to find her shoes as interesting as possible until Porrim left in order to spare herself the awkwardness.

"Aranea?" Porrim said, thwarting Aranea's plot to remain passive.

"Hm?" She looked up again.

The green blood reached out to Aranea's neck, tucking the Sufferer pendant out of sight. Aranea hadn't even realized that she still had it out from the first song of the evening. Porrim's hand lingered, trailing the back of her thumb up the other troll's jawline, making her blush blue.

"Be careful who you let see that. Not everyone would approve." Porrim whispered and pressed a claw from her other hand to her lips. "But don't worry, it'll be our little secret." The singer closed the door, taking the warm light from inside with her and leaving Aranea in the dark alley with her cheeks burning.

* * *

Aranea went back to the club the next night. And the next. And the next after that. And each night, she would come into the back block before and after Porrim's first show, bringing a pair of coffee cups from a shop on the way, and have conversations in Porrim's dressing block for as long as the singer could afford. Their topics ranged from the most trivial things to very serious subjects.

It was the profound discussions that Aranea enjoyed the most. In frivolous ones, Porrim would allow Aranea to prattle on about everything involved. But the important topics were far more gripping, Porrim's strong opinions sometimes causing her to almost match Aranea's incredible (as well as unintentional) word quantity. The singer seemed to have a particularly great deal to say where gender equality was involved. That was how Aranea learned Porrim's actual blood hue.

It was after Porrim's first show, the only one scheduled that night. They had talking about the duties of certain castes, when Porrim mentioned the roles of female jade bloods being forced into a life of serving the mother grub. That turned into a full-on rant on Porrim's part over the sexist organization of it as a mandatory career.

"I can tell you feel strongly about this." Aranea said over the cup of coffee she had brought when Porrim paused for a breath.

Realizing her launch into the tirade, she halted. "Excuse me." She apologized. "It's just, I," she looked down into her own paper cup with a trace of abashed shame that Aranea didn't know existed. "I'm glad I got out of it."

For the first time in a long time, Aranea was at a loss for words. Instead, she put her hand over one of Porrim's, a comforting gesture.

Porrim lifted her chin and met Aranea's eyes. "Thank you, Aranea. You are a lovely troll."

After a moment of uncomfortable quiet, the tension between them snapped. They connected at the lips, fangs clashing. Porrim pulled back slightly, readjusting the angle and the kiss became gentle, passionate.

* * *

Porrim rose early, long before the docile Earth sun designated it day. She hauled her body out of the Recuperacoon, avoiding disturbing Aranea. She remembered seeing the ablutionblock on her way in last night, and decided that that would be a good course of action, covered in traces of slime as she was. She picked up her clothes and made her way down the hall.

After a nice, hot simulationrain, she got dressed, knowing that she was going to look a bit overly dressed at the ass crack of dawn in a silk cocktail dress. But then again, she was still dressed better than anyone else would be.

She returned to Aranea's respiteblock to find the cobalt blood still asleep. Moving quietly, Porrim grabbed her purse, shoes, and coat from where they had mysteriously fallen from a stable perch and most definitely had _not_ been thrown.

When she stood back up, something on Aranea's dresser caught her eye. A hot pink laminated employee ID tag, absolutely coated in gaudy pink glitter. Aranea's picture was in the upper left corner, her job position and name under it. A smirk tickled the corner of Porrim's mouth as she reached into her bag, claws retrieving a green rectangle of plastic and glass.

She snapped a picture of the ID, getting a few different angles to maximize the chances of Sollux being able to beyond a doubt and a half verify the authenticity.

She heard Aranea stir behind her, and quickly stowed her huskphone away. Thinking for a moment, Porrim jotted down a quick note to Aranea and left it on top of the dresser. Porrim left Aranea's hive, waiting until she was on the front steps of the building to put on her shoes and coat.

* * *

When Aranea awoke a while later, noticing with slight disappointment that Porrim was gone. While she prepared for work, she found a slip of paper on her dresser.

' _Aranea, I had a great time. Troll me sometime. Porrim_ '

Below that was a Trollian handle. After that, the cobalt blood found that she couldn't help but smile, until she got to work and Meenah commented on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and seemingly filler. But I swear, the events of this chapter are of the utmost importance. For ship and plot reasons.  
> Please leave a comment and tell me what you think.


	7. Act 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karkat's No-Good-Horrible-Very-Bad Day. Or, John and Dave begin their training.

Karkat was in the front room by the time Porrim made it back to base, having left Gamzee laying on a pile of bicycle horns in his block. Karkat had no idea where Gamzee had gotten all of them, nor did he want to ask about it. It just seemed better to not ask.

He heard a knock on the door, sliding open the peep bar and having to stretch upwards on the tips of his toes to see out. An eye roll of disdain preceded his unlocking and opening.

"Thanks, Karkat." Porrim said, papping him atop the head as she came in.

"Where in the mother grub's taint chafing slurry have you been?"

"Out."

"You know, it really shouldn't be anyone else's responsibility to show the slightest amount of concern over where you are when you decide to stay out all night for a fruity asshole rumpus."

Porrim's face pinched sourly. "You really do have a low opinion of me, don't you?"

Karkat rolled his eyes, as if so much was obvious.

The female troll sighed. "If you must know, I was gathering information on a palace servant. And she's a follower of the Sufferer. Now, if you'll excuse me." She pushed past Karkat.

He needed energy sludge. It was far too early for this much hoofbeastshit. There was the usual full, hot pot in the hungerblock. He filled a mug, drinking it down before allowing Nepeta and Terezi's quiet talking and loud giggling across the block to bother him.

He turned sharply at them.

"Hey, Karkles." The latter cackled. "Have you met the new agents yet?"

"They're a couple of dunk asses. They'll be dead in a week. I pity whoever has the misfortune to hold their hands through training."

Nepeta covered her mouth to hold back a laugh. Karkat narrowed his eyes at her.

"What?" He hissed.

"That's why we came to find you, Karkitty." Nepeta gushed with excitement.

"Our team was picked to train them." Terezi grinned.

Karkat slammed the mug on the counter and stormed down the hallway, bursting into the Summoner's office without knocking.

Porrim was standing across the desk from the resistance leader, her huskphone in his hands.

Catching the look in Karkat's eyes, the Summoner handed the phone back to Porrim. "Have Sollux look at this. Confirm the authenticity before proceeding further." Porrim nodded before leaving, pausing to give Karkat a slightly smug look. She closed the door behind her, and Karkat kept eye contact with the Summoner for a bit.

"I assume you came to speak to me about something?" The brown blood said.

"Why, the throbbing fuck, pray tell, is my team showing the new recruits around?" Karkat said the words carefully, not yelling yet.

"Because your team leader volunteered, and I thought you three would be best cut out for it."

Volunteered. Of course. He should have suspected Terezi's hand in this from the beginning.

"What if I refuse?" Karkat challenged.

"You're the one who wanted more responsibilities."

"I didn't mean showing a couple of bulgeleaks around!" Karkat was shouting now. The Summoner was often amazed by how much sheer volume could come from such a compact troll.

"You won't be training both of them. I was going to put Terezi and Nepeta in charge of one of them, and you would lead a team with the other."

Karkat stopped short. "What's the catch?" He asked carefully.

"No catch. I have been unfair to you, and this is your chance for promotion. I'll even give you first choice. Do you want John or Dave?"

Karkat scoffed. "A choice between the newest Strider who has already managed to set off Gamzee or the human descendant of Egbert, who probably has years of secretive training and a vast respect for their appointed leader."

"Perfect. I'll let the girls know and get you introduced."

Karkat's first impression of John Egbert wasn't as good as he would have liked it to be with his future teammate.

"John, this is Karkat. He'll be your team leader." The Summoner said before redirecting his attention to Terezi and Dave. Nepeta was at work, where she was employed part-time.

"It's great to meet you." John said brightly. "I guess we're going to be working together a lot." He held out his hand for a handshake.

Karkat looked at him for a minute, staring at John's face and checking for something to prove the insincerity of his words.

He looked behind him where the other two were definitely getting along. The Summoner had left them, as they knew what they needed to do until they got assigned a mission.

"Terezi, trade me." Karkat requested.

Dave flipped him the bird for his troubles.

A visit to the trainingblock for strife specibus allocation was next, and Dave informed them that he already had bladekind, a katana equipped. The elder Strider had trained his brother in combat since before he could walk.

Much to Karkat's chagrin, Terezi and Dave were training before John had even begun to peruse the different weapons lining the walls. John eventually selected a sledge hammer, testing its weight before smiling like an utter idiot to himself.

With a little more urging, Karkat got him into the trainingblock for some sparring.

Terezi and Dave were neck in neck, parrying and dodging each others' attacks. As much as it physically pained Karkat to admit, Strider was good. No match for any sort of real battle, but he would hold his own in a skirmish.

Now Karkat just needed to get John to that level. Without warning, the troll swiped the curved blade of his sickle at the unsuspecting human.

John dodged it, but barely. "What the hell?" He yelled in surprise, falling back on the padded mats. "You could have killed me!"

"That's why you need to make sure I don't. When we go on missions, I can't be covering your pathetic weak human ass."

John stood up, nervously taking the hammer with two hands and bending his knees into almost a battle stance. Karkat rolled his eyes, but opened with an overhead swing.

John blocked it easy enough with the handle of the hammer between his hands. Karkat kept applying pressure, forced to withdraw from the swing when John held.

"Attack me!" Karkat barked, swinging for John's vulnerable ankles. John hopped on one leg, backing away.

He swung at the troll, who dodged easily and jabbed John in the stomach with the outer dull side of the hooked blade.

John gasped, but it riled him up enough to try the offensive again.

This went on for a while. Karkat didn't know when they left, but at some point he realized that Dave and Terezi were no longer there. They had been fighting for longer than he had initially thought.

"Karkat, can we rest?" John asked, panting.

"No!" Karkat snarled. "We finish the fight."

Karkat swiped again, John catching it with the head of the hammer. It became a battle of strength, of willpower. Karkat scarcely noticed when he started to lose ground in the stand off, but it became apparent when the two weapons began to curve to the side in John's favor.

The troll gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on the sickle. With one final shove, John pushed Karkat's weapon away. The sickle clattered to the floor, and John thrust the head of his hammer into Karkat's gut.

Karkat fell backwards, coughing for breath.

"Karkat!" John exclaimed, rushing to his side. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?"

"No, shit." He wheezed. John opened his mouth to apologize, but Karkat cut him off. "No. That's enough training for today. Just, help me up."

John obeyed, helping Karkat into standing position and giving him his sickle. All weapons stored in their respective specibi, they cleaned up the area they had been training in.  
"Have you been to see Sollux yet, get your phone upgraded to work down here?"

John shook his head.

"He's in the computerblock. If he's an asshole to you, don't take it to your weak human pumpmuscle." Karkat left, pausing in the doorway. "By the way, what you did, that was," he searched for the word for a second. "Mostly decent."

John smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, I know this was late, and I am already dead inside.  
> Please leave a comment and tell me what you thought.


	8. Act 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The net of politics swaths the home of the Empress herself, and Karkat takes John on his first mission.

Aranea knocked on the door to her mistress's respiteblock, hearing an affirmative signal to open it.

"Meenah, the-" a golden 2x3dent flew through the air, lodging in the wall next to the door. "Meenah!" Aranea gasped.

The fuchsia blood laughed, lounging across a plush sofa.

Aranea sighed. "Excellent shot, ma'am." She wrenched the weapon from the wall, returning it to its owner. "As I was saying, the royal bloods are here."

Meenah groaned. "Do I have to?"

"Yes."

With no small amount of protest, Meenah was hauled from her blocks and brought into the frontblock where their guests waited (somewhat) patiently.

Feferi was already there, conversing politely with Eridan, who appeared to be complaining heartily over his kismesis, as he usually seemed to be doing as of late. Cronus was thoroughly cut out of it and bored, sitting with his legs and arms crossed, his back slumped in a hot pink armchair. His maidservant seemed anxious, jumpy, and excitable. Eridan’s was the picture of poise, completely unbetraying of the sickeningly low shade of blood that her master knew flowed in her veins.

Cronus perked up when he saw Meenah with Aranea at her heels. His eyes scanned her body up and down, an appreciative glance lingering on her exposed midsection. “Hey, Meenah, doll. Long time no see.”

Meenah opened her mouth to retort, interrupted by Aranea clearing her throat behind her. The heiress huffed out a heavy sigh before turning to her servant.

The cobalt blood made sure she had the room’s attention before she spoke. “For our guests’ entertainment, a movie has been prepared downstairs. If you will follow me, you will be escorted.”

Meenah had already walked past by the time Aranea had finished speaking, Cronus, Eridan, and Feferi following, their respective servants after them.

Meenah was quick to lay claim to the chair downstairs that was indisputably hers, using the remote to flip through various television channels before switching to the display screen of a video game and grabbing the gold controller.

Cronus managed to insert himself between Feferi and Eridan on the couch, putting his arm on the back and behind the former, much to the dissatisfaction of the latter.

Aranea held her tongue as the movie she had picked out was brushed aside. Almost.

“Me-” She began.

“Shall I prepare snacks, my lady?” Horuss, Feferi’s personal aid asked.

“Shore!” The younger Piexes said, choosing her character.

Cronus turned halfway around, meeting Horuss’ eyes and nodding almost imperceptibly. He redirected his attention to his own assistant. “Hey, Kitten. Why don’t you go help out?”

Nepeta bowed her head and said a respectful “Yes sir.” Before scurrying after Horuss and following him into the kitchens.

Horuss retrieved a platter from a cabinet, setting it delicately on the counter.

In a few moments, they had everything they needed to begin to prepare snacks out without any incidents. Barring Nepeta opening several cupboards before finding what she was looking for.

“All clear. You?” Horuss whispered scarcely above a breath as they began make the food.

“Affirmative.” Nepeta replied. “We’re running out of time. You need to make your move. Soon.”

“I plan to shortly. We need only wait for a proper distraction.” Their eyes met briefly, and Horuss lifted the tray and started to leave.

“You’re not telling me something.” Nepeta said perceptively as she followed him towards the door.

Horuss paused, grinning. “Or maybe I just have more faith in unforeseen circumstances.”

* * *

“Keep your head down.” Karkat instructed. “We’re trying to blend in.”

“Sorry.” John said. He kicked at some gravel, sending it skittering down the sidewalk. “I’m just nervous.”

“Well stop it!” Karkat hissed out the corner of his mouth. “This is serious, and we don’t have any time for your pathetic human sense of worry.”

“Somehow I get the feeling that worry isn't just a human feeling.” John countered.

Karkat fumbled for words for a few moments before shoving his teammate’s shoulder and walking a little further ahead of John, throwing his hood over his head, the short horns bulging a bit under the material.

John laughed and allowed the troll the distance he needed. When Karkat turned a corner, however, John hurried his pace, not wanting to get lost in the crowds of the city streets. When he turned the corner, he smacked into someone’s back, starting his apology before he realized that it was Karkat, and he were on the outskirts of a crowd of onlookers, all frozen in their tracks and staring at a few figures in the middle of their ring.

Two uniformed Imperial guards stood over the crumpled blonde form of a human girl, backpack on the ground and contents spilled around it.

“Karkat, what is this?” John asked is whisper.

“A demonstration.” The troll growled. A clawed hand reached into the side of his backpack, producing a reddish-brown mask.

“Pathetic humans need to learn their place.” One of them said. He looked around at the assembled audience and shouted, “You are nothing! Once you accept your role as the scum of the world, and you stay in line, less of you will end up like this one!” A gasp was heard throughout the crowd as hatchetkind was produced from the speaker’s strife specibus and raised above his head.

The downswing seemed to fall in slow-motion before everyone’s eyes, the sound of splitting flesh crushed bone imminent. What no one expected, however, was a curved blade to appear seemingly out of nowhere, catching the wrist of the guard. There was a silence, one prolonged silence that made it seem as though the world were completely still when only blocks away others were continuing on with not the slightest idea of what was happening nearby. No one knew how long it lasted, but it was at least long enough for a pearl of blue blood to slide from the sickle, finding the lowest point and dripping into the street.

It was complete and utter madness after that. The guard wrenched his arm back, finding his new target instantly. A masked troll crouched in a battle stance, offending weapon held in his hand.

“ _The Knight of Blood... Resistance..._ ” Some were whispering to each other.

The guard gritted his teeth, signaling his partner to stay back. He could take this runt on his own.

Swings overhead, under, the Knight dodged them, striking at the guard’s ankles in an attempt to make him lose his footing. The guard jumped and avoided the attack, tackling the Knight to the ground and wrestling him down in submission.

The maroon-clad fighter relented, dropping his sickle. The guard grinned.

John swung his sledgehammer into the side of the guard’s face as hard as he could, throwing him off Karkat and knocking him out.

“Good timing.” Karkat growled, taking back his weapon and accepting John’s help back to his feet. The both of them turned to the remaining guard, who already had her pipekind at the ready, waiting for their charge.

Now you see, there are two kinds of pipes. When one said ‘pipe’, John’s immediate thoughts would be one of his father’s pipes. To him they were a symbol of fatherliness, of manliness. But the other meaning of pipe was a bit different. The one currently growing closer to John was made of some sort of heavy metal, and not the fun musical kind, and probably fit better in the category of the second sort.

She seemed more perceptive than her partner, going after John first. He ducked her first swing, but failed to anticipate the kick to his shin which sent him to the ground.

John was only barely able to wedge a leg between them, putting her off balance. That was Karkat's cue to shove her to the ground, her head creating a smack as she was rendered unconscious.

Karkat offered John a hand, helping him up. "C'mon." He said, jerking his head in the direction of another street as the crowd began to disperse.

John uttered a quick "wait," before he rushed to the side of the human girl on the ground. He grabbed a few of her scattered belongings, handing them back to her.

"Thank you," she said, looking up at John for the first time. Oh. Oh shit. It was Rose.

John was grateful when Karkat grabbed him by the back of the neck, hauling him to his feet. The troll led him through a confusing network of narrow paths and side streets that seemed anything but random before he ripped the mask from his face. John followed suit.

Karkat pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation.

"What the fuck was that!?"

"What?"

"We don't talk to civilians. Simple rule. Is it really so momentously difficult for someone even of your caliber of idiocy to understand?"

John looked down at his hands. That was one of the mission rules, wasn't it? "I'm sorry, Karkat. It won't happen again."

"Oh, it won't happen again? Make fucking sure it doesn't because, and I hate to disappoint, whether or not you are the absolute worst recruit I've ever had the displeasure of being in the proximity of, I will train you. And boy, have I got my work cut out for me. You're _months_ behind on your training in regards to self-sufficiency, you can't follow orders worth shit, and Nepeta certainly isn't making matters any better by 'shipping it', which, by the by, she better have meant pitch, because I loathe you, John Egbert, and any quadrant we fill will be one of pure, unadulterated hatred."

John just looked at Karkat as the troll caught his breath. When Karkat realized all of what he had just said, he froze, fighting back the color rising in his face.

And worse fucking yet, John seemed oblivious.

Karkat struggled to find words. "I-I mean, not that I, look it's, I mean, ah! Fuck!" He started to storm off. "Come on, you half-baked grub munch. Let's just get back to base and report this."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in a day as a way for apologizing for not posting for four months? Yes. That's exactly what happened. Have a pleasant day.  
> Please leave a comment and tell me what you thought!


	9. Act 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Johnkat-esque fluffy bro times lead to awkward conversation. Warning for shitty spy-codes and puns. And I don't know, in my mind Karkat seems like the type to angrily mutter about shit.

John tacked up a final movie poster. It was complete. Everything was in perfect order, every title and critical character proudly displayed and wallpapered across concrete walls, held in place by masking tape.

John turned his head to the collection of boxes sitting in the middle of the room. Now that the important stuff was taken care of, he could put away his clothes.

He grinned when he heard the yell from Dave's room, where there was more than likely going to be an additional box of smuppets packed with such precision as to not cause the cardboard to bulge, but also explode spectacularly in Dave's face as he opened it.

It really was amazing how fast Dirk had fulfilled his promise of getting them their things so quickly.

John opened the first box off the top of the stack. Yeah, forget putting away clothes for a little while, this was an entire box of DVDs. Yes. Hell yes. Hell fucking yes.

John quickly spread as many as he could across his bed, now outfitted with significantly cooler sheets and a stack of chill-pillows, or chillows. All of John's movies were ordered haphazardly, begging him to sort them in a way only he understood, his favorites always within reach and spread out a certain ways to prevent creating internal disagreement over what he should watch.

Okay, this was going to be a movie night. He would unpack all his stuff in the morning, he swore. Besides, he was still a little sore from the patrol with Karkat.

Speaking of which...

"Hey! Karkat!" John called as he heard the angry muttering pass near his room, which was quickly silenced.

"You have three seconds to explain why I shouldn't just never walk down this hallway again." The troll scowled, poking his head into John's room.

John held up a DVD box. Karkat glared at it.

"It's... a shitty movie. Okay, just what the hell am I supposed to be looking at?"

"It's not shitty!" John defended, clutching his dear sweet cinnamon roll child to his chest. "I got all my stuff, and I thought we could watch some movies or something."

"Uh-huh..." Karkat nodded slowly. "Why?"

John shrugged. "We're teammates, I thought we could spend some bro time together."

Karkat turned back to John, eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Alright. I'll accept your 'offer' of 'bro time'." He said, raising his hands to make air quotes. "But no way we're watching your worthless human shitting festival."

Okay, ow. This was actually a good movie. "What do you want to watch, then?"

Something lit up Karkat's face for the first time since John had known him, and the troll rushed from the room. For a few moments John suspected he might have been stood up, but Karkat returned quickly with an enormous stack of DVD boxes in his arms. With the care most people showed infants, Karkat set them softly on John's bed, spreading them out.

John... couldn't read most of the titles. Sure, they taught it in school, but John basically knew dick-all about reading Alternian. It didn't help that the titles were unnecessarily long and what was supposed to be the human equivalents of b, h, and l were all practically identical.

Karkat snatched one up, holding it proudly before John. "This is the first one."

"Oh. cool." John picked at a spot on his arm. "What's it about?"

Karkat shot a venomous gaze at John. "Try the title, dunkass. 'The Musings of a Mildly-Tempered Teal Blood Bound by Duty to Assist her Moirail, who has Engaged in an Emotional Wrestling Match with his Former Kismesis over the Red Affections of a Poised and Beautiful High Blood'."

"Right." John glanced over to his TV and DVD player. "So, I'll get stuff ready in here if you want to go make snacks or something."

* * *

John could feel something warm against his side, something else digging into his palm. He also heard the same irritating tune playing on a loop. His glasses sit heavily on his nose, and he knew he had forgotten to take them off before he went to sleep.

Sleepily, he cracked open his eyes. He was met with the sight of Matthew McConaughey looking at him intensely from across the room.

John looked around, curling his fingers. Popcorn was in his hand. He raised it up, seeing the red indentations in it before finding the remote, turning off the TV and with it the infuriating main menu song for the movie. The warmth against his side was Karkat, still peacefully asleep.

He looked young, happier than John had ever seen the troll.

The rise and fall of his chest was steady, and his arms were still crossed over his chest. He looked different without a scowl, brow relaxed into a smooth line beyond the wrinkles to show just what position the skin was usually twisted in.

John mused to himself. He was curious what it would feel like, and Karkat was asleep anyways. He wouldn't even notice, and John's curiosity would be satisfied.

The raised his hand, bringing it about level with Karkat's head before he leaned in a bit more. Every so carefully, John touched his fingers to the tip of Karkat's horn, running his finger smoothly down it. There was no difference in texture from color to candy corn color, the whole thing the same bone-like smooth.

Karkat shifted a little, and John feared he might wake.

He didn't, and John continued. They were kind of glossy, and- wait a second, was Karkat _purring?_

John didn't know trolls did that. And god, was it adorable. Tee-hee. Kar- _cat_. Beep-beep meow.

He pushed back the black hair, finding the base of the horns and where they met his scalp. John scratched around there, and the purring intensified. Cute.

Karkat made a keening sound, flush spreading dark across his cheeks and neck and even up to his pointed ears.

A pair of partially lidded yellow eyes met John's for just a second before they opened wide and Karkat just straight-up decked John in the sternum, screech issuing from his throat.

John was pushed back by the force of the blow, and Karkat rolled gracelessly off of the bed, quickly scrambling to his feet. He pointed an accusing claw at John, his whole body shaking with rage.

"You..." he ground out. "You have the gall, the sheer audacity to charm me with your disgusting and inarticulate human wiles and then _TAKE ADVANTAGE OF ME IN MY SLEEP?!_ "

John opened his mouth, but nothing came out, too shocked to reply.

This only seemed to enrage Karkat further, and the troll stormed from John's room with a wordless scream, swiping John's DVD from their haphazard stack and onto the floor, steel door slamming loudly behind him.

John stared at it, dumbstruck, for a few moments. It turned inward on its hinges slowly, and Dave's head appeared, not wearing his shades for once. He took in the scene, then looked curiously at John.

"Dude."

"Yeah." John said, resigned.

* * *

Karkat did not speak to John. He muttered angrily to himself about humans, said John's last name every so often, the occasional hissed _Strider_ , but he didn't speak to John.

It made it kind of difficult when John was supposed to take the mission briefing from his team leader and the leader elected to not even cast a non-murderous eye in his direction.

"Uh... Karkat?" John tried, getting a sharp glare. John swallowed. "I'm sorry about... whatever happened this morning. I mean, I didn't really know that horns were a big deal, and-"

Karkat barked out a single humorous laugh. "Not a big deal. Not a big fucking deal." A troll woman passing shot a scolding look at Karkat. "I suppose you pink dirt monkeys just go around bumping uglies with anything that has the misfortune of crossing your path. Well, I'm not one of your endoskeletoned playthings you can just dick around with to your pump-muscle's content."

John narrowed his eyes nervously. "Wait... So touching horns is like... a sex thing!?"

Karkat looked at him as though this should be obvious, and John gulped dryly. The human rubbed the back of his neck, looking away. "Look, Karkat, I'm really, _really_ sorry about that. I had no idea." He glanced back up, and Karkat's anger seemed to waver just a bit. "I, uh, I don't know if this helps, but I'm not a homosexual."

"Am I supposed to know every single one of your idiotic human terms?" Karkat asked sardonically. "What does that mean? Ho-mo-sexual."

John finds his eyes darting away again. "Well, it's when a human likes someone of the same gender. Like when girls like girls, and boys like boys."

Karkat stared at him for a moment. "That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard erupt from you blabber-tube by far. Seriously, what the fuck? Why is that even a thing?"

John shrugged. "It just... is."

Karkat scoffed. "So what does that mean for you, specifically?"

John shrugged. "It just means I don't like guys."

Karkat raised an eyebrow. "You're saying that you have no interest in pursuing a romantic relationship with me?"

John shook his head.

"Are you kidding me? With all your fucking black _and_ red flirting and 'bro time', you're telling me that you don't want to be anything more than hate friends?"

"I was thinking just regular friends, actually. No hating involved. And, sorry if it ever seemed like I was flirting with you."

Karkat took a moment to stare at John as though he had three heads before stomping ahead.

John caught up quickly. "So, where are going anyways?"

Karkat darted his eyes around, speaking in a low voice. "One of the former members of the resistance has spent the last sixteen years training a human grub for elite missions. With things escalating, we need to call them in."

They wove through the streets of the city, entering the more open areas of the old district, houses with wider yards and the extravagant architecture from early post-invasion Earth.

Karkat stopped at last before a house with a large tower topped with a dome and knocked three times on the door, large white dog barking at them through the window.

"Down, Becquerel." Becquerel. John could swear he'd heard of a dog with that name before.

An older mustachioed gentleman opened the door, rather large firearm held in one hand and partially concealed by his body. John thought it was likely the man opened the door like this every time he had a visitor.

"Could I borrow a cup of sugar?" Karkat asked.

The man smiled. "I'm afraid I only have cinnamon."

Karkat let out a sigh of relief. "Who the fuck even writes these, anyways?"

The man chuckled. "I suppose you're here for my granddaughter. The Summoner sent me a message."

John nodded. "That's right."

"We're to escort her back to base." Karkat said. "You know the procedure from there."

The man nodded. "She's just getting the rest of her things. Fine young woman, my granddaughter. I know she'll serve well."

There was a call from inside the house, and the old man let the screen door close as he stepped back inside, hugging a figure tightly. He held her and arm's length, speaking seriously to her. Whatever she said made him laugh, and he kissed the top of her head.

Backpack over her shoulder, the elite agent stepped outside.

John felt his jaw go slack.

A curtain of disordered dark hair framed a toffee colored face and large round glasses, bright green eyes behind them.

"Jade!?" John exclaimed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Late update. Like, hella late update. But I'm back and same as ever. With the end of the holiday-semester finals shit festival held every year, I am free to deliver awkward dorky gays unto you. <3  
> A special thanks to SinisterPyro, milkandhoney, and GreyscaleCourtier for encouraging me to get off my ass and then get back on my ass ten feet away in front of my laptop.


	10. Act 9

Karkat glanced between the black-haired blue-eyed human at his side and the black-haired green-eyed human in front of him.

Humans are fucking weird.

First the special forces agent stared, letting out a gasp.

"John!?"

Oh, great. They knew each other.

And Egbert was scrambling for words. "How-? _You're_?"

Karkat sighed. "Please excuse my teammate's inability to speak and overall incompetence. Special Agent Harley, I am Agent Vantas and this is Agent Egbert."

John turned to Karkat, that giant grin on his face. "Karkat, this is Jade!"

"Well golly John, I wouldn't have guessed. It's not as though I was given any briefing on the mission or anything of the sorts."

John turned back to the agent. Jade, as it would seem. "Jade, this is Karkat! He's kind of prickly, but he's a great guy."

Jade shoved out her hand, which Karkat took after a moment's hesitation.

As they at last turned from the house, Karkat reflected on the descendant of a famed resistance agent who turned out to be only an irritating human. And now there were two of them.

Fuck.

Now they were babbling, going on and on and on and yet further on about _oh my god how are you with the resistance_ and _what happened, you just disappeared_ and _is Dave there?_ Seriously, Karkat's claws twitched with the sheer urge to wring Egbert's stupid neck.

* * *

Terezi's teeth took the soft flesh of Dave's tongue between them, giggling at the gasp of pain.

"Damn it," Dave muttered, pulling away from her. "Again with the biting?"

"I can't help it." She defended, smiling evilly. "You're just so _delicious_."

Dave sighed, running his hand over his face. His shades rested next to Terezi's glasses on his bedside table, at the troll's insistence. He still wasn't going to let her lick his eyes to "taste the color" or whatever.

"See, when you say shit like that, I get genuinely concerned you're going to pupate one day and emerge as a giant human-eating wasp alien."

"Oh, puh-leeze, Dave. I would never eat you." The air quotes around "never" and the subsequent cackling did nothing to help her case.

There was a knock at Dave's door, and he stood up, snagging his shades. He took a moment to straighten out his shirt, adjusting his collar to hide more of his neck. Last thing he needed was his brother heckling him about the bruises Terezi had left in her wake.

But it wasn't Bro on the other side of the door. It was Jade.

Dave's lips parted in wonderment before he schooled his expression, clearing his throat gently. "Hey."

Jade smiled brightly, throwing her arms around his shoulders. "Dave! I'm so glad you're alright!"

Dave hugged her back, affirming that she was really there. "What are you doing here?"

Jade pulled back from the embrace, her hands still on his shoulders. "I'm joining! Oh my god, I can't believe this. I mean, I've wanted to tell you my secret for so long, and now,"

Terezi poked her head around the door. "Friend of yours, Dave?"

Shit.

Dave stepped back from Jade quickly, pretending not to see the hurt on her face. "Jade, this is Terezi, my team leader."

"Hi! It's so nice to meet you." Jade greeted cheerfully.

Terezi stepped closer to the door, her glasses now in place. "And a complete delight to meet you. If you will excuse me, Dave, Jade. You two enjoy yourselves now." The troll brushed past Dave, the 90° of her ass resolutely making its way down the hallway and out of sight.

"Damn it." It took a moment for Dave to realize that he was the one who had spoken.

"Dave?" Jade asked carefully. "Are you... I mean, do you like her?"

Dave let out a soft gasp of breath. "Yeah. I mean, shit. Jade, I'm sorry."

She smiled softly. "We weren't together, Dave. You have nothing to apologize for." Jade patted Dave's arm before straightening up and putting on what she had once deemed her 'serious' face. "But if you're serious about liking her, you need to get your crap together right now and go talk to her." Dave opened his mouth to say something, but Jade cut him off. "I mean it, Mister! You go talk to her and set things straight. And for god's sake, Dave, wear some make up or something over those hickeys!"

Dave clasped a hand over his neck.

* * *

A figure stole to the Imperial Palace like a thief in the night, carefully dodging into the minuscule corners out of reach of the Empress's surveillance and guards' routes.

Nimble as a spider, deadly as a scorpion, the single pair of soldiers were killed by the thief without question.

The enormous "library" was filled with oil paintings of the Empress from varying flattering angles, assorted locations. The books' spines were dusted, but the tops of them were not, pages not cracked since the grandiose palace had been built. A carefully applied spark of light to the eighth page of the book that the agent pulled from the shelf quickly spread.

No one would be awake to smell the trail of gasoline she had previously poured down the hallway.

Carefully tearing out pages and arranging them, the thief brought the flame to a blaze. Content, the thief turned from the table in the center of the room, stepping to the large window. From the corner of her eye, the one with seven pupils trained on the fire, she watched one page flutter from the table ever so slowly, swaying and dipping as it fell as paper is wan to do. A smirk on her lips, the thief took a step back and ran straight at the window.

Glass sprayed around her, biting into her skin before she fell into the spacious swimming pool below. Before she hit the water, the library went up in an explosion flames as dust, paper, wood, and gasoline worked in harmony.

* * *

Feferi couldn't breathe, couldn't see, couldn't think. Horuss' strong hand on her wrist was the only thing moving her through the smoke and burning heat. At last, he stopped, pulling her into an alcove. He jerked the candelabra back from the wall, opening creaking at the trim. He released her, digging at the opening with the tips of his fingers. He forced it wider, until he could squeeze through.

"My lady," he said, voice rough. "This way, if you would."

Feferi followed him without hesitation.

Once she was in, he shoved the wall section back into place and then everything was completely black.

There was an electronic beep and click as Horuss' goggles booted up, a pair of emerald beams shining before them. The room was concrete, a steel ladder leading downward.

"If you'll follow me, Princess." Horuss said, starting down the ladder.

"Where are we?" Feferi asked as the light from Horuss' goggles guided her down the ladder and into what appeared to be a massive concrete tunnel.

"The sewers. Fastest way to get to where we're going."

Feferi was silent for a few moments. "Did you know that the fire would happen?"

"I suspected." Horuss replied. "I knew not what form the diversion would take, but I knew it would come. Rest assured, this isn't the resistance's work."

"Whose, then?"

Horuss smiled a bit, just to himself. "Whose indeed."

* * *

"Dave!"

Dave startled, spilling hot chocolate down his front and crying out at the heat.

John snorted, having seen Nepeta before she had unintentionally ambushed her teammate.

Dave hurriedly grabbed some napkins, setting his mug down and starting on wiping off his shirt. "What!?"

"The Summonpurr wants to see us."

Dave groaned. "I bet it's another mail pick-up. We always get the shit jobs."

"Hey, at least you're going somewhere with _Terezi_ ," John drew out.

Dave pinched his forehead in irritation. Or at least he would have, if he were significantly less cool. "John, don't even talk to me about having the hots for your team leader. At least I'm actually getting somewhere."

"Dave! There's nothing happening between us!"

If the tail stemming from Nepeta's rear end wasn't made of felt, it would be a-fucking-wagging right now, Dave just knew it.

* * *

Civilian clothes, stay casual.

Terezi's hand held the dragon-headed cane with poise, making her way down the city sidewalk. She could smell the energy sludge in the air, knowing the meeting point wasn't far.

And that ever-so-lovely hint of summer blueberry lip gloss drifting on the breeze from over the rim of a semi-sweet cappuccino in a white porcelain cup.

"Well well well, look who it is." The single troll said nonchalantly, flipping some hair behind her ear. "Or should I say 'smell'?"

"I really hope you don't plan on playing coy the whole time. I've got places to be, you understand, don't you Vriska?" Terezi took the seat across from Vriska and drummed her claws on the table.

The troll set down her cup, eight pupils fixed on Terezi. Her attention danced briefly over Nepeta, landing on Dave. "So the rumors are true. Strider finally coughed up his grub for your little cause."

"That's neither here nor there." Terezi replied. "I was hoping we could discuss more... recent events, actually."

Vriska smirked. "So that's what this is about? You think _I_ was responsible?"

"No one said anything. Although..."

"Get to the point, Pyrope." Vriska drawled.

"The job was done well. No one saw anything, the younger princess is still missing, the entire palace evacuated. Tragic. The stealth entry alone was a masterwork."

Vriska hummed, taking another sip of her sludge. "You know, flattery will get you everywhere."

"My leader is upset with your mistress." Terezi stated simply. "Whatever your agency did or did not do caused quite a stir and put certain parties on the alert. Quite disadvantageous for other parties with far more support and allies who may seek retribution. One in particular comes to mind."

Vriska smirked, extending one hand to pat Terezi lightly on the cheek. "You know I loooooooove it when you do your whole lawyer thing, but I need to leave. Duty calls." Vriska winked, standing and walking away without another word.

Dave's eyes flicked between the two of them blankly for a moment. "I take it you two know each other."

Terezi turned to the human as though he were currently the most ridiculous denizen of the planet. "Of course I do. She's my best friend."

* * *

Porrim's fingers were pleasant in Aranea's hair, the cobalt blood feeling the weariness lift from her muscles as she spoke from her rather comfortable position with her head in the other troll's lap. "And now it looks as though I'm out of a job until I receive official notification that I'm to report to... wherever it is they want me now." Aranea sighed. "I'm sorry, I'm probably keeping you, and talking way too much, which is ridiculous because I told myself I wouldn't do exactly that before you got here, and-"

Porrim interrupted her by setting a soft hand over her cheek. "It's alright, dear." She murmured before returning her hand to Aranea's hair. "You haven't considered that I like the sound of your voice."

And cue the dusky blue flush. "R-really, it's awful. I mean, the fact that someone managed to break in, and they started with the _library_ of all places, then got out of the palace while it went up in flames." Aranea sighed, then glanced around nervously, as though they weren't in her own hive and it was highly unlikely that anyone were there to overhear. Still, her words scarcely extended above a whisper. "And, the Empress. She had the entire guard of the night executed. When Princess Feferi wasn't found, she had all the servants in the palace killed too." Aranea shuddered, her fingers tightening around where they idly held the hems of Porrim's skirts. "I-I'm afraid. I'm afraid that they'll come after me. I wasn't there, but I could have been, and,"

Porrim's finger brushed a sky colored bead of moisture from Aranea's eye. "You don't need to worry, dear. They won't come for you. And if they do, I'll protect you."

Aranea let out a quick bark of laughter before recoiling. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply,"

"I know." Porrim said quietly. "You needn't worry. I know my way around laughsassins, mind you. If I must, I will stop them from harming you."

"That's a lovely sentiment." Aranea breathed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter with ships and feelings. Sorry about the stiff af Terezi-Dave-Jade thing, I really know nothing about how emotion works when implemented in a social setting. Hella Johnkat next chapter, so stay tuned.
> 
> Critique is love. Love births puppies. Puppies turn into dogs. Dogs should live forever.


	11. Act 10

“Maybe you’re just a dipshit.” Sollux advised, ever the resourceful and helpful comrade in arms.

Karkat ground his teeth together. “ _Thank_ you, your eminence.”

“Go fuck yourself.” Sighing deeply, the technician stood and left the room.

John glanced between the lanky retreating form and Karkat. “So, what’s the story there?”

Karkat raised an eyebrow, looking up from the Imperial data store package. “What?”

“You and Sollux. You guys really seem like you don’t get along.”

Karkat pressed a hand to his collarbone. “John, I will have you know that Sollux is one of my closest friends.”

John sighed, flicking his fingers over the Alternian characters on the dial. Karkat glared at him, and the human held his hands up innocently and stepped back.

They had found it when they raided a minor information cache. None of the usual mediums of data transfer that Solas could crack with a mere glance in its direction, just a steel cylinder about circumference of a softball and a foot tall. The top of it could rotate, the Alternian alphabet banding it, clicking with each turn.

Sollux was already overloaded with work, so it was left to the duo to figure out the elaborate puzzle of the information canister.

They’d been at it for hours, and John needed a fucking break from mind numbing work. Sollux’s computer screen was blinking…

“Hey, how long until Sollux gets back?” John asked.

He could practically _hear_ Karkat’s eye roll. “Wiseass will be gone for at least an hour, with his fucking matesprit in the Resistance now.”

“Who, you mean Feferi?” John slid into Sollux’s seat, spinning around.

“Damn it,” Karkat murmured, twisting the dial completely around to reset it once again. “No, I mean the _other_ person Sollux finds even remotely tolerable amidst our treacherous sea of jackasses aboard his ship, the _S.S. Infinite Patience for Hoofbeastshit_.”

“You could have just said ‘yes’.” John looked over his shoulder at Karkat, moving the mouse and awakening Sollux’s computer. “How’s it going?”

“Is that another one of your overwhelmingly pathetic human flirtations, or are you talking about the… thing? Shit!” The dial reset once again, clicking.

John sighed, minimizing whatever elaborate coding set-up Sollux had open. “For the last time, I wasn’t flirting with you.”

“Could have fooled me.” Karkat huffed. “I’ve almost got it figured out, if I could just find the right order… Damn it! It’d probably be a hell of a lot easier if you’d put forth whatever meager information your dry, withered sponge can produce.”

John opened up an innocent enough looking folder on the desktop, labeled ‘Picture2 of A22hole2’. Charming.

And it was empty. What the fuck Sollux? Oh, wait, shit. A password protection box popped up. Well, fuck that. John hit the cancel box, and…

_Fwoom._ Darkness.

Backup power kicked on, lightbulbs red and computer screens across the room all idle.

“I am going to murder you, John Egbert.” Karkat said calmly.

“Did I-?”

“Sollux’s emergency shut down. He’s going to set you on fire with his mind and lynch your flaming carcass. It only extends to the room, so you should probably find somewhere to hide now.” Karkat sighed, twisting the dial on the canister again. _Click. Click. Click._ “What the fuck?”

“Did you get it?” John asked.

Karkat shook his head, confused. The canister dial was rotating of its own volition, ticking rhythmically.

John stood, barely getting out of the chair before he was thrown against the wall by an explosive force, breath knocked from him harshly and shards of shrapnel cutting into his skin.

When he collapsed onto the floor, John checked all his facilities. He was bleeding horrendously, and he could still breathe. Fantastic. After a moment, he laughed. “Guess we know what it was for.”

He turned to Karkat, who was curled forward on the floor.

“Karkat?”

The troll gave a small tremor, croaking something out.

“Shit,” John muttered as he shot forward. As soon as he reached Karkat, however, a claw was flung at him.

“Don’t touch me!” He screeched. Red blood stained the front of his sweater, more on the floor. Shards of steel impaled him, having taken the blunt of the canister’s explosion. “Don’t look at me!” He cried again, almost pleadingly. “Kankri, get Kankri. Just Kankri…”

“Kark-“

“Go!”

John ran from the room, reaching the med bay in record time.

* * *

Four hours. John had been sitting against the cement wall outside the infirmary for four hours. Kanaya had patched him up in mere minutes, hands and arms wrapped in Ace bandages and a pair of butterflies holding the bigger cuts on his face together. But Karkat…

The troll was conscious. His voice tended to carry. John hadn’t dared trying to get into the room. When Karkat had been lying on the floor of the tech lab, he’d been so vulnerable. And not in a “a fucking bomb just exploded on me” type of way.

The door opened, and Kankri stepped out. “You may see him if you so wish. Though he should not be jostled or overexerted. And do try to refrain from upsetting him.”

John sighed in relief, stepping past the medic.

Karkat was lying with his eyes closed on a sterile cot, shirt foregone in favor of a wrapping of white bandages all up his torso and arms.

“Karkat?” John said quietly, and the troll’s eyes snapped open.

Immediately, Kankri put his hands gently on Karkat’s shoulders to stop him from sitting up.

“What the fuck is he doing here?” Karkat snarled. “He fucking saw-“

“I’m aware.” Kankri interrupted. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Okay, what? “What do you mean?” John asked carefully. Both of the trolls turned to look at him as though they had forgotten he was there.

It was Kankri who spoke up.

“You are, of course, aware of the unjust social spectrum of troll blood colors.”

John dipped his head in a nod. He noticed that Karkat was staring at him, as though gauging his reaction.

Kankri continued. “A very uncommon few trolls have a blood color that deviates from the spectrum. It is for this reason that humans are at the bottom of the hemospectrum.”

“So, what? You’re saying that Karkat has a different blood color from normal trolls and that’s why he got upset?”

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here, Egbert.” Karkat growled, then turned on Kankri. “And you! What about patient confidentiality?”

“Come now, we both know I’m not a licensed physician.” Kankri cleared his throat. “As I was saying, the uncommon blood color, a bright red, has caused social discourse throughout the Empress’s reign. The Signless is the most famous example. And it should be noted that such terms as ‘normal trolls’ and implying that those among the population with red blood don’t fit that mold is incredibly offensive.”

“Oh. Sorry.” John mumbled. “But like, why is it a big deal?”

Karkat and Kankri shared a glance. ‘I told you so.’ The latter’s seemed to say.

“It’s not.” Karkat ground out. “And you’re not going to tell anyone about it, do you hear me?”

John shrugged. “I didn’t really plan to.”

Karkat closed his mouth, then opened it again. “What?”

“I don’t think your blood color’s a big deal, and it honestly didn’t occur to me to mention it. But if you don’t want me to, I’ll make sure I don’t. I mean, I’m guessing nobody knows,”

“They don’t need to know.” Karkat said sharply, crossing his arms. “Kankri, could you give us some privacy?”

The older troll looked suspiciously at his patient. “I don’t want you walking until I can be sure that the fragments are all out.”

“Fine, just, go.”

With one more backwards glance, Kankri left and Karkat sighed.

“Insufferable.” Karkat grumbled. He looked up at John, then nodded to the end of the bed.

John sat down, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “So,”

“I can’t figure you out.” Karkat admitted. “I am constantly filled with the urge to stab you, but… What the fuck are you?”

“What? I’m… human. You kind of bring that up a lot.”

Karkat shook his head. “That’s not what I mean. You… infuriate me. You fucking tease me and flirt with me, and… I… I pity you, okay? I fucking… fuck. I like you.”

Karkat seemed to return to himself, watching John nervously.

Stillness hung heavy and oppressive over them, and then Karkat pushed himself into the sitting position with a slight wince.

“Kankri said you shouldn’t-“

“Fuck Kankri.” Karkat growled, leaning slowly toward John. “I-if you don’t want this, if you are even the slightest bit uncertain, fucking stop me. Because I can’t keep doing this.”

John swallowed, nodding. The intense grey-on-yellow eyes closed, and Karkat drew closer still. Following the troll’s lead, John closed his eyes and held his breath, pushing forward the final inch.

Their mouths met awkwardly, the both of them too anxious to move. It was John who drew back just a bit, then turned his head and brushed their lips once again.

He felt Karkat suck his bottom lip into his mouth, sharp teeth gliding over the skin with care.

John brought his hand up to Karkat’s hair. This was… yeah. This was pleasant.

There was a small sound as the door opened, followed by a gasp of horror. Karkat threw himself back from John, grunting in pain as his back connected with the cot.

A flurry of words, and Kankri had shooed John’s ‘corrupting influence’ from his charge.

* * *

Aranea stepped up to the back door of the club, as she did nearly every night Porrim performed. There was a sound behind her, and she stilled. After the burning of the palace, she had been so jumpy, afraid that the interloper would come for her as well.

But the flutter of garbage in the wind was nothing she needed concern herself with. Besides, it was unlikely that anyone would even come after her.

These thoughts were still fresh in her mind when she found herself thrown against the rough brick wall, something pressed against her throat.

The grotesquely painted face of a laughsassin was before her, cruel smile on their face.

“Her majesty doesn’t like naughty little girls who touch her things.” The agent teased in a cold voice, digging their strife specibi into her throat.

Aranea croaked for breath, trying to flail her arms with enough strength to fend her assailant off. That only seemed to amuse the laughsassin. Her vision blackened at the edges, and then she fell solidly on her ass on the ground, taking in a greedy gulp of air.

There was a brief noise, and she found her front splattered in dark, sticky violet blood. Her lips parted, trembling along with the rest of her body, but no sound came out.

Porrim produced a handkerchief from her sylladex, cleaning her hands of the blood and returning her polearmkind to her strife specibus. Immediately, she was before Aranea, hand taking careful hold of the cobalt blood’s chin and turning her head from side to side.

“Are you alright?” Porrim asked.

Aranea was at a loss for words, her mind whirling and hands shaking, staring at the face before her.

“Aranea, are you hurt?” Porrim demanded again.

She more heard the impact than felt it as Porrim slapped her, bringing a dollop of clarity to her.

“I’m… I’m okay.”

Porrim gave a sigh of relief. “I was afraid this would happen. After the fire,”

“Porrim?” Aranea muttered.

“Do you have anything on you from the palace? A work ID, a set of keys, anything you were given?”

It was quick work removing everything matching that description, and Porrim helped Aranea to stand.

“The- the Empress just tried to have me killed.” Aranea said. “I’ve never… I did everything they told me to. I was never late for work, I followed every order,”

“I’m sorry it had to come to this.” Porrim said. “I never wanted to get you involved.”

“What are you talking about? You didn’t do this.”

Porrim pursed her lips. “You can’t go home, Aranea. Everything of your old life is gone. Do you understand?”

Aranea hesitated, then nodded.

Porrim gave her a small smile. “Then I think it’s about time we retired to _my_ place for once, don’t you?”


	12. Intermission 2

Jake and Dirk went together, having the same destination and the same starting point and they were to arrive around the same time. Nothing weird about that.

Unless, of course, Dirk overthought it and made it weird with his half-formed sentences.

“It’s, uh, nice night for an evening.”

Really, he was a disgrace to humanity. If there was any good in the world, the long-dead god of old would strike him down.

“It is.” Jake replied, looking around. “We’d better hurry, though, or we’ll miss curfew.”

“I know how much you hate breaking laws.” Dirk tried joking, a bit lower.

Awkward silence, however, was a good deal safer than awkward conversation. So silence prevailed. Very, very smoothly. Not even like a lead blanket had been cast over them until they reached the condo.

“This is the place, right?” Jake asked, nodding to the front door.

“Yeah,” Dirk started up the path, prepared to knock when the door burst open, Roxy’s smiling face in full sight.

“Oh my god, guys, we’ve been waiting forever!” She complained light-heartedly, grabbing each of them by the wrist and pulling them inside.

Jane was sitting primly on the couch, if a bit stiff, with a soda in her hand.

“Rose requests we politely keep it down.” Roxy mentioned as she stepped into the kitchen, opening the fridge. “Drinks?”

“Orange.” Dirk responded.

“Green, please.” Jake said, sitting down on the couch, on the middle of the three cushions, next to Jane.

Roxy tossed them each a red can, color/flavor printed on it in white text.

Dirk sat on the other side of Jake, Roxy spreading herself across the couch’s matching chair.

Jake cracked open his can, a surge of foam spouting up and down the can, over his hand and dripping onto the wood floor. “Blast,” he muttered. “Sorry, Rox.”

Roxy waved a hand dismissively. “’s fine. I needed to clean anyways.”

Dirk didn’t miss the flick of Jake’s tongue as he attempted to clean off his hand, nor his sucking on the back of his knuckle, unaware how appealing a spectacle he was creating. Dirk also didn’t miss the way Jane watched either. Amber met cyan, albeit hidden by Dirk’s shades, but the eye contact established along with a momentary lapse of awkward.

“Remember when you could get brands?” Roxy asked, turning her own soda can in hand, looking at it discerningly and shifting her torso to sit up. “Like, other than Crocker Corp. There was Coke, and Pepsi, Fanta,”

“Mountain Dew.” Dirk said.

“Sprite.” Jane piped up.

Roxy glanced at Jake, noting the blank expression, and giggling. “I swear, Jakey, you grew up on a deserted island or something. You seriously don’t remember different types of soda?”

Jake shrugged sheepishly. “My l- grandmother didn’t let me have sodapop. That’s hardly a crime.”

Roxy let out a groan, throwing her arms back yet miraculously not spilling her drink. “But it is, actually!” She sighed. “I miss Lisa Frank stickers. My entire first month of Kindergarten was spent with sea lions on popsicles and puppies sitting on cupcakes all over my face.”

She bolted upright, bright expression on her face. “Janey! Remember Little Debbie cupcakes?”

Jane smiled. “Whenever we went shopping, my dad would always buy me a cupcake, with its little pink wrapper, and I’d eat it before we got back home.”

“Twinkies!”

“I’m pretty sure I’ve seen that film.” Dirk chimed in. Jake slapped him on the arm, laughing.

Roxy somehow twisted herself over so that she was leaning on the arm of the chair, her hands under her chin. “Oh come on, Strider. You can’t tell me you’ve never had a Twinkie.”

Dirk shrugged. “Well they’ve been off the market for what, fifteen years? They were always too sweet for me to finish as a kid, so I didn’t like them, or even miss them much when they were gone.”

Roxy sighed, shaking her head. “The 90s are such a period of nostalgia, almost entirely due in part to the rapid growth of society and the technological advancement, then the Empress’ boycott on non-Crocker Corp mass-produced goods, and the ones most impacted by these changes are the ones who knew nothing else until a day of sudden upheaval.”

The four of them fell into silence, Dirk fiddling with the tab on his soda can. That was… wow.

Roxy straightened up, looking around at them. “Sooo, who wants to play beer pong?”

“Rox,” Jane began.

“With soda.” Roxy corrected. “Soda pong. Let’s keep it sober tonight. That means you, Janey.”

Dirk sighed, getting up. “Fuck it, I’m game.”

He watched from the corner of his eye as Jake offered his hand to Jane, helping her off the couch. They were talking, Jake was making his goofy embarrassed face and scratching the back of his neck, and they both pulled their phones out. Dirk bit his lip, turning back to where Roxy was getting things set up, pulling down a plastic sleeve half full of plastic cups. “Janey? Could you find a ping pong ball? It should be in the box of sports stuff in the hall closet.”

“Got it.” Jane replied, excusing herself from her conversation with Jake, putting her phone away.

Jane disappeared down the hallway, the sounds of her rummaging reaching Dirk.

“So what were you talking about?” Dirk asked when Jake accepted the cups from Roxy and began pouring out his soda into some on one end of the kitchen island.

Jake gave a cheeky grin, which he may have actually intended to be a sexy smirk, based on the way he narrowed his eyes. “We were talking about how downright ravaging you are.” Jake laughed. “We just exchanged Pesterchum handles. I-I think she might like me.” Jake chuckled awkwardly. “I found out she uses Bettybother though… Interesting choice.”

“It’s ‘cause of her family.” Roxy said, then pointed to the cups on Jake’s side. “Ten on each side. Make a pyramid.”

“Wait,” Dirk said. “You mean her last name is Crocker, as in, _Crocker_?”

“The one and only.” Jane announced as she returned to the kitchen, holding a ping pong ball victoriously in hand and going to the sink to rinse off closet dust. “My dad was always pretty paranoid about ‘the family’ using anything other than Crocker brand stuff, so…”

Roxy sighed, drawing Dirk’s eye. He noticed idly how Jake had gone stiff, though he was hiding it well. Meanwhile, Roxy was beginning to dump whatever mixture of soda colors she decided exciting into the cups. “I don’t know how you can stand it. The pop-ups alone would drive me insane.”

“Well it’s too late now!” Jane exclaimed with an air of exasperation. “The username mixing between Betty Bother and Pesterchum and Trollian means I would have to get a new handle and then re-add all my contacts. It’d be a nightmare.”

Roxy slapped her hands on the counter lightly. “Alright! Let’s pong! Strilondes versus… Englocker? Crocklish?”

They arranged themselves accordingly around the island, a rather intense Eyes match deciding the taker of the first turn.

With a discerning eye, Roxy rolled the ball between her fingers and looked intently at Jane and Jake’s cups. “Wrists or elbows?” She asked the room.

“Wrists.” Jake replied. “The counter’s too short for a proper game.”

Rox nodded, pouncing the ping pong ball on the table and landing it squarely in a cup.

* * *

Fuchsia slime dripped from where his wrists and circuitry melded, impossible to tell where one started and the other ended. His mouth was slightly opened, struggling to suck in breath sacs of air. If he was feeling particularly daring, he might try to escape.

If he had the strength, he would have scoffed at that thought. _S)(-E_ had long ago contained his energies, leashed them almost completely to her own hand. A pair of tyrian goggles over his eyes were a reminder of that.

The sound of the door opening grated into his blood when she entered, light flooding the dim chamber. She wanted to talk. But what ploy would she go with this time?

"Well, well, well, my Helmsman." She started pacing in front of him. "I had a small, _predicament_ I hoped you could help me with. You see, those rebels are causing some trouble. I was hoping you might be able to help, considering how disgusting red bloods are your area of expertise."

Ah, she was using mocking him as a way to think and vent her frustration with circumstances.

"I _would_ have them all culled, but that would just encourage the" she wrinkled her nose in disgust. " _Sympathizers._ "

He didn't even lift his eyes when she searched them for response. It was their game. She would bait him; he would refuse her. And every time she would make her offer.

"Perhaps I could capture their agents. A public execution in chains. But we wouldn't want to be reusing old material, so to say."

But still he held himself together.

"I tire of these one-sided conversations, my dear Helmsman. Why don't you say something?"

_There's a lot of things I'd like to say, you heartless witch._ He thought.

Without warning, she gripped the bottom of his jaw and leaned her face in next to his. He tried to ignore the familiar feeling of warm life flooding through his body. "Why won't you talk to me?" She hissed. "Why do you only speak in defense of those, those, _mutants_?"

The Ψiioniic lifted his head, looking into her triumphant cruel smile, then up to her eyes. "Because they are better than you will ever be." He whispered, voice hoarse from disuse.

There were moments when the Condesce seriously considered hitting him, but she could never bring herself to hurt her Helmsman. "I could let you go, you know. All it would take is one little word from you. One little agreement, the right answer and there will be no more of this." She began to circle him, keeping her face to trap him further in his helpless state. "You could go outside. Walk, see somewhere besides these walls. And for scarcely any price at all." She stopped in front of him, waiting for his response.

His lips began to move, and the empress leaned in further. In a flash of movement, the Ψiioniic pushed his lips the final bit of effort, splattering the royal cheek with yellow bloodied saliva.

With a noise of disgust, the queen of trolls stomped out of the room and turned off the lights, leaving him in the darkness. Alone. The same way he had spent his life for so long.

* * *

Jane let out a cheer as Jake sunk the ping pong ball into Dirk and Roxy’s final cup.

English was smiling like a jackass, all cocky and filled with the faux-high of the excitement of the game.

Dirk’s throat was dry despite the soda concoction he downed.

“Best four out of seven?” Jake suggested innocently even as he and Jane exchanged a high five.

“Winner sets up.” Roxy reminded, rolling a pair of cans across the counter to Jane and Jake.

Jane cracked open the first can, gasping but altogether unsurprised at the way it foamed over her hand and spilled onto the floor. “Seriously, Roxy? That doesn’t get old?”

“Never.” The blonde promised, swiping a dish towel off the counter and tossing it to Jane.

Dirk was grabbing the cups from the counter, remaking their pyramid on their end of the island.

“Here,” Jane said softly, wiping at the floor around Jake’s shoes.

He backed up a half step, the soda serving as a catalyst to his clumsiness and sending him nearly spilling across the floor. Jake managed to catch himself on the island with one hand, though he couldn’t quite stop himself from jarring one knee against the tile and his forehead smacking on the counter edge.

“Jesus!” Jane cried in surprise, covering her mouth with both hands briefly in surprise, then offering one to Jake to help him up. “I’m so sorry, are you okay?”

Jake accepted her hand, laughing it off even as he winced and put his weight onto one leg. “No need to apologize, hardly the worst fall I’ve taken.” He stood completely, pushing his hair back from his forehead.

“Jake, you’re bleeding!” Roxy said.

“What?” Jake’s hand flew to his forehead, but Dirk batted it away, steering Jake’s face by his chin and examining it with a critical eye.

“Your stitches tore. Rox, do you have a suture?”

Roxy nodded. “First aid kit in the bathroom cabinet.”

Dirk took Jake by his elbow, guiding him to the bathroom. Jake sat on the toilet lid while Dirk opened the cabinet behind the mirror and removed the white plastic box, pushing the door closed to make room.

Dirk crouched down a bit in front of Jake, wetting a cotton ball with peroxide. “Hold your hair back,” he murmured, dabbing at the blood until he found the incision. Jake hissed as the peroxide came into contact with the open wound. “Don’t be a baby.” Dirk scolded half-heartedly. “You’ve been stabbed before without so much as flinching.”

Jake cracked a grin. “Kanaya has a significantly better bedside manner than you do.”

“Says you.” Dirk countered. “I’m a damn delight.” He brushed Jake’s hand aside, pushing up further into his hairline. Dirk ran his fingers over the skin and soft hair, exhaling slowly and closing his eyes.

“Does it go up that far?” Jake asked with a note of concern.

Dirk recoiled his hand as though bitten, eyes snapping open. “No, I just thought I saw something. It’s nothing.”

Jake nodded, closing his eyes while Dirk finished cleaning the area, then throw away the cotton ball and find the suture, disinfect, and thread it.

“Just like me to make a fool of myself in front of someone so lovely,” Jake lamented with a sigh.

“Hey,” Dirk pierced the skin around the cut. It’d almost definitely scar now. “You’ve made a fool of yourself in front of me a thousand times.”

Jake laughed once. “At least.”

There was silence as Dirk finished the stitches, their faces mere inches apart and his shades slid a bit down the bridge of his nose so he could look over them, knowing Jake could probably see his eyes and the smattering of freckles across his nose.

“Dirk, you’re beautiful.” Jake whispered with something akin to a reverence.

Dirk stilled, eyes flicking to Jake’s. “Jake,” he said slowly. “How hard did you hit your head?”

Jake’s eyes widened and flush crept up his neck, as though he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. “I just mean- I’m- ugh! You’re insufferable!” Jake glanced away as Dirk tied off the stitches.

“Really, though.” Jake continued as Dirk began to clean the suture and pack up the first aid kit. Behind his shades, Dirk watched as Jake looked away and rubbed the back of his neck. “Actually, for a bit I thought you might like me.”

“I do like you, Jake.” Dirk replied, feeling a lump begin to form in the pit of his stomach.

“I know, but I mean… you _like_ me.” Jake laughed off the discomfort. “Crazy, isn’t it?”

Dirk swallowed, putting the first aid kit back in the cabinet.

“Dirk?” Jake asked.

Dirk slid his shades off, setting them unceremoniously on the edge of the sink. He turned around and crouched before Jake, lips barely parted.

“Dirk,” Jake whispered, eyes wide but not moving.

The blond bit his tongue as he moved forward slowly, their breath mingling before their lips brushed together.

It was nervous. Dirk remained perfectly still until Jake’s lips began to move against his, kissing him, finally kissing him.

Dirk exhaled his twist of anxiety as Jake crept a hand up his side, around his shoulder.

There was the noise of the door hinges creaking, and both Dirk and Jake threw themselves apart.

Jane was standing in the doorway, flustered look on her face and a bottle of rubbing alcohol in her hand.

Dirk could see the strain in her embarrassed look, the shame in her eyes.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt anything,” she said, placing the rubbing alcohol on the edge of the sink, meeting Dirk’s eyes and giving him a tight smile. “Um, Roxy and I were talking about what you said the other day,”

“Oh, yeah.” Dirk replied eloquently, shaking his head a bit to clear it.”

“And… we’re in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is five months late, but that's okay, right bros? :'D
> 
> Anyways, usual stuff. DirkJake, my inability to casually insert cotton candy, and tormented pain.
> 
> Shout-out to Aveline Vallen and her power of flirtation, unintentionally seducing my Hawke each and every time but still a stuttering mess around the man she cares for.
> 
> Leave a comment and tell me what you thought. Reviews are love! And thanks for putting up with me.
> 
> P.S. Someone's gonna die soon but I'm not telling you whom.


	13. Act 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to business! The result of Terezi and company's meeting with Vriska, and the aftermath of Dirk and Jake becoming a thing.

“Are they new agents?” John asked quietly, watching the trolls he would usually have crossed the street to avoid streaming into the base with sacks and boxes.

Karkat shook his head, wrinkling his nose in disgust as John poured sugar and milk into his energy sludge, despoiling the mediocre fluid even further. “Mindfang’s people. She’s the Summoner’s matesprit, and ever since the fire, they have to lay low.”

“They started the fire!?” John exclaimed, perhaps a bit too loudly, as a few of Mindfang’s agents turned to glare at them.

“Whole lot of good it did us.” Karkat sneered. “After their little stunt, the Condesce is on high alert and she’s sending laughsassins after anyone she thinks _might_ be guilty.”

“But without it, we wouldn’t have Horuss, Cronus, and Nepeta here full time.” John defended.

“Well, yes, but,”

“And we wouldn’t have recruited Aranea. And we couldn’t have gotten Feferi here.”

“You know what, you can cram it right up your-”

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” One of Mindfang’s agents began chanting.

Karkat scowled, realizing how close he had gotten to John. “What the fuck do you want, Vriska? Aren’t there grubs you have to artfully crush beneath your heel lying around somewhere?”

“And pour the sludge in pail!” John added, try as he might, not at all understanding the intricacies of humor despite referring to himself as a ‘comedian’. It was quite evident to Karkat now that the troll comedies he’d been assigning John to watch were having little effect.

Karkat felt heat flood to his cheeks, grinding his teeth together as Vriska let out her irritating little chuckle.

“Fantastic match for you, Karkat!” Vriska exclaimed.

As Vriska strutted away, Karkat balled his fist and gave John a none too gentle blow to the arm.

“Ow!” John cried, rubbing his arm. “What was that for?”

“Buckets are for dirty sexy things.” Dave responded, appearifying out of ass-all nowhere and plopping his crossed arms across the back of John’s head like a douche who felt the need to brag about even the slightest height difference but do so in a manner that was only intended to piss off Karkat. And if Strider was here, that meant…

An obnoxious giggle, and, ah! Me oh my, Terezi was here! She threw her arm around Karkat’s shoulder, unnoticing or perhaps just uncaring of the way he absolutely did not wince with pain, his hand flying to John’s wrist and likely ripping the sleeve of the human’s shirt with how tightly he dug his claws into it. John responded by taking Karkat’s hand in his own, giving it a squeeze.

“You guys hold hands? That’s gay.” Dave commented, leaning even forward onto John’s head and pushing the latter downward.

“That’s not even a thing.” Karkat retorted.

John snorted, color rising in his cheeks. At least it was an improvement on his previous responses to the suggestion of human homosexuality. “Dave, you literally lost your virginity to a guy.”

Dave flapped his hand in a vague gesture. “Virginity is a social construct that has no bearing on actual life. Besides, it was only my mouth virginity. Doesn’t count.”

“I’m pretty sure-” John tried.

“Doesn’t count.”

“Playing nice, I hope?” The four of them looked up, spotting Dirk and Jake heading toward them, in full mission gear for Important™ missions.

“Just discussing your brother’s prowess on the concupiscent platform.” Terezi responded casually.

“It’s genetic, what can I say?” Dirk replied with an ironic remake of Jake’s classic double pistols and wink. Probably. Karkat was guessing on the wink. Strider even made the weird tongue clicking noise.

“I’m surprised English isn’t limping. You losing your edge, bro?”

At Jake’s expression, John pushed Dave off of him and countered. “Don’t mind Dave, that’s just his way of saying he’s happy you’re together finally.”

“Finally?” Jake turned his head quickly between John and Dirk before settling on his matespr- boyfriend. That was the word humans used. “Did _everyone_ know except me?”

There was some shrugging, muttering, and nodding among them, not necessarily in that order.

“Anyways, we’re heading out. Big important mission, you know how it is.” Dirk wrapped his arm around Jake’s waist, the both of them giving waves before heading toward the door.

Dave stepped forward quickly, giving his brother a swat on the ass, the two trolls and two younger humans laughing a bit at the way Dirk squeaked with surprise and pain.

* * *

The inside of the grist mill was hot as all hell, explosions continuing to blast in sequential order above and behind them, the mine cart they were riding in shooting up sparks with each turn Dirk forced them around, far beyond the cart’s intended speed. Jake was at the cart’s rear, firing off one shot after the other at their pursuers, ducking down to change cartridges.

Dirk planted his katana for only a moment in the dirt, pushing off the ground to keep them from tipping at the curves. “How’re you holding up?” He asked Jake near yelling, feeling as though his magenta mask were suffocating him. They’d plotted out this mine from top to bottom, there was the tunnel to the transport bridge over the bay soon if they could just shake the guards.

Jake glanced up, clicking the magazines into place and sitting up again. “Low. We need to get the hell out of here. The whole place is coming down. The last set will be detonating soon.”

“Roger.”

A sharp turn, wheels squealing, and Dirk could see it. The light at the end of the tunnel, he could smell the water. Closer… Almost there…

A blast shook them, rock above them falling, obstructing their pursuers.

3… 2… 1…

Another tremor, and their cart was thrown. Dirk curled in on himself to protect his organs, feeling rocks and shrapnel digging into his sides and back and head, bruising him harshly and slicing his skin. He could taste blood in his mouth, and with luck the sharp pain in his side wasn’t a re-breaking rib.

He thought to look up through his dazed stupor, spying Jake in a similar position, the light of the tunnel entrance around him nearly blinding. Dirk extended his arm, a rhythmic ticking from his watch warning him that the last of Sullox’s kits was activating.

Jake was scrambling to get to his feet, reaching for Dirk to help him up.

The ticking quickened, and Dirk’s eyes widened. “Go!” He screamed hoarsely, and put his hand on Jake’s stomach, shoving him and sending him tumbling just outside the tunnel entrance.

Jake felt the force of the blast throw him back, landing roughly, yet miraculously, still on the bridge of the tracks. A look back at the caved-in tunnel and he let out a nonsensical yell of anguish, stumbling forward to begin digging through the rubble meagerly with his peach-covered hands, ignoring the pounding in his head that may be a concussion. His stitches had undoubtedly ripped again.

The thundering of the bridge’s tracks alerted him to the guards, racing from the depot, strife specibi primed.

Jake took one last look at the tunnel, and he jumped.

* * *

Karkat groaned as Porrim worked his back and arm muscles over, idly watching John, who had fallen asleep in the corner, slouched over in a chair with his head resting on one hand.

So much for “emotional support”.

It wasn’t the first time Karkat had been injured to the point of requiring massage therapy to encourage blood flow and healing and whatever the fuck else, but he couldn’t recall a time it had grated on his nerves more. Whatever fondness he felt for John and the comfort he felt at having his matesprit close at hand was regrettably overruled by his deeply-instilled instinct to never allow a human to see him in a state of vulnerability.

Aranea’s unceasing pedantic blather certainly wasn’t helping. It was basically like a second Kankri as far as verbosity went, except this one wasn’t doping him up on pain killers and likely wouldn’t be anytime soon. Honestly, Karkat wasn’t even sure what the subject of conversation was, having tuned it out within five minutes of arriving and leaving himself with white noise.

At least the filing system was updated. Sollux couldn’t find anything without the relative chaos that formerly decorated the resistance’s administrative corner of the computer block, but he’d get used to it. Mituna had already, more than doubling their communication and briefing rate within three hours.

It was a shout echoing down the hallway that startled John awake and had Karkat on his feet without bothering with his sweater. The thundering of feet followed before the both of them were in the hallway, sprinting toward the front block.

Most of the agency had gathered at the door when they heard the yell, many holding weapons around a single dirtied figure smelling of sulfur and low tide.

Jake was leaning on Gamzee, seeming to have accepted support to stand the moment he arrived. The human was sopping wet, still in full mission gear with his mask pulled off and clenched in his hand. His eyes were red, he speech unintelligible.

“Step aside, step aside!” Kanaya demanded, pushing her way through the crowd to Jake. “If he’s in shock, you’re all hardly helping him!” The jade blood was a force to be reckoned with when like this, concern and irritation crossing a bit into anger and putting at risk everyone who put her patient at risk.

The back of her hand fluttered to Jake’s forehead, and she pursed her lips, pointing to a member of the crowd at random. “Bring me towels, blankets, anything to keep him warm.” Nepeta dipped her head in a nod, sprinting off. “Jake, do you know where you are? Can you nod for me?”

Jake swallowed deeply, fighting past his rapid breathing. He nodded his head. “Base. I’m at base.”

“Good. Can you tell me what happened? Are you hurt?”

Jake hunched forward at that, nearly dropping from Gamzee’s grip were it not for the arm catching him around the waist with a murmured “let’s take it nice and relaxed like, brother.”

Jake shook his head frantically. “No. No, you don’t understand, he’s gone,”

“Who’s gone, Jake?” Kanaya asked gently, though Karkat knew she already knew the answer.

Jake’s lip trembled. “Dirk. He’s… He’s…” he was cut off by a choked sob.

* * *

Dirk couldn’t move, could barely breathe with the sharp pain shooting through his side. Beyond that, it felt roughly like a quarter ton of bricks had been dropped on him.

He sent a prayer to an either long-dead or just outright apathetic god that Jake had made it out okay.

It seemed like his drifting out of consciousness was just his injured body’s way of lecturing him. Like the chorus at the beginning and end of Shakespearian plays. ‘Look at how these dumbasses fucked up everything. Don’t do this!’

He scarcely registered the voices or the shifting of rubble.

The light though, the light was clear to him, triggering the natural response to blink it away and preserve his corneas.

It was also impossible to miss the hands hauling him up none-to-gently, peeling the mask off of his face.

_No,_ he wanted to protest. He needed it. To keep the organization safe. To keep Dave safe. To keep the himself safe.

To keep Jake safe.

The sky began to darken, grey faces before him fade.

Dirk jolted forward at the rush of something electric through his body, writhing and straining at the bonds he was in. A matronly troll was examining him, seemingly uncaring of his reaction.

“Whe,” he tried, tongue darting out to wet his dry lips. “Where am I?”

The troll ignored him, instead scribbling down a few notes before departing, the doors opening and closing for her.

Dirk tilted his head to the side, trying to observe the room.

He might take it for a hospital room, were it a sterile white instead of a subdued rose pink in color. A clusterfuck of medical shit dripped into his IV, some clear but some pale blue or yellow and one rust red. Ah, a transfusion of troll blood. Cross that one off the bucket list, he supposed. He was pretty sure that was some form of sacrilege as far as the hemospectrum went; even blood as lowly as that of the rust bloods had no place pumping through the veins of a disgusting human such as himself.

He weighed the risk of attempting to rip the IV out, like people who woke up in hospitals in movies. Of course, Dirk’s understanding of modern medicine informed him that whatever sedatives they were pumping him full of were well worth the risk of possibly damaging the vein horribly or dying from dehydration or malnutrition right there.

This was to be his end, he supposed. He’d assumed so for a while. Few opponents of the Empress lived to middle age. Their missions were dangerous, their civilian lives for those who possessed them were carrying cause to receive a knife in the back at any time of day or night without the slightest stirring of attention. An unfortunate few were captured, tortured, interrogated, and executed when they served no further use.

Dirk couldn’t look up to see the source of the doors sliding open, nor the clack of heels on tile, nor the wearer of entirely too much perfume. He smiled wryly to himself.

He hoped the bitch at least had him going out in a bit of flame.

* * *

Three days passed with no mention of the Prince of Heart.

The wanted posters stayed where they were.

The organization mourned.

Jake had had more than one conversation with the Summoner lead to a screaming match, unable to accept “wait” or “too risky” or “he knows how to handle himself” as an answer. The human was confined to his quarters for the fear that he’d do something impulsive.

Dave hadn’t attended dinner the past two nights, casually brushing off comments on the matter, saying he was fine, his brother would be fine.

He always was.

* * *

Left, right, right. Left, right, right. Always left, right, right. Or had it started as right, left, right?

Dirk didn’t care to recall.

There was an interlude in the punches, and he welled up enough bloodied saliva to push the dislodged tooth to the cold metal floor to join its brothers. Five so far.

He had to admit, the face was favorable to the shit the Condesce’s crony had started with on his hands. Fingernails gone, iron nails through the beds, each bone broken at the joint with enough space between them to stop the pain from blending.

That particular project had taken several hours, having to keep shooting him up with the equivalent to troll adrenaline when he blacked out.

Her talons were on him again, digging into his cheeks as she lifted his jaw.

He didn’t speak. He wouldn’t tell her shit. It was far too satisfying to watch the frustration and disgust spill across her face while he murmured an eloquent “suck my dick” in response to her questions.

Dirk wouldn’t last long, he’d realized. Though he wasn’t sure what context that was in. If they didn’t give him water soon, he was going to die. A pitcher of water, enough morphine to fuck off permanently and peacefully, he might even give them information. Shitty information, mind you, but still; who was going to suspect duality in the confession of a dying torture victim?

Don’t answer that.

He’d found Egbert’s old man, at least. Low priority prisoner; half the torture, two lopsided triangle meals a day. Squares were overrated anyhow.

* * *

Many turned out for the spectacle, dressed in their finest clothes. The square was full, humans and trolls alike struggling to catch a piece of the action.

A green-eyed human glanced around anxiously, as though devising some half-cocked scheme. Fat luck with that; he couldn’t take more than two or three soldiers alone, and he doubted anyone had noticed his escape. He watched as the blade began to fall, his first sight of the square far later than he would have liked.

His lips began to part in an anguished wail, cut off by the clawed hand clasped over his mouth, hugging him back against a familiar bosom, smell of Alternian forests not yet stamped out by nearly a century of living in the Earth underground.

A gasp rang out among the crowd as though they expected anything else to happen, the expressionless human face rolling away from the bloodied stump of a neck. Another one of their saviors, turned out like a light rebelling against the inky blackness of the Condesce’s ocean.

“It’ll do you no good to draw attention to yourself. I know what you’re feeling, but all that will happen is both of you will end up dead.” The Disciple murmured in Jake’s ear. “Let’s go.”

Jake choked back a sob, and nodded, unable to look at the limp body of Dirk being kicked away from the headsman’s block like refuse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I was going to just put in some filler after Dirk got captured. Then I thought, what the hell, let's kill him.
> 
> Comments are love!


	14. Act 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning! This chapter contains graphic sexual content between a 17-year-old human and an 8-sweep-old troll, both of whom are below the legal age of consent in some regions. If this is not to your liking, please skip the text between the first and second page breaks and proceed with the knowledge that uglies were bumped.

Dave wondered if this is what dying was like.

A gaping hole punched out of your chest, ever-present and defying any attempts at the falsity of blissful ignorance. It’d burned into a righteous vengeance, but those fires only rose up to his gut, sucked up to his heart and burning it from the inside out. Fury wouldn’t temper his grief, he realized.

He’d known this might happen. Even before he knew about Resistance was real, his brother always made sure Dave would be prepared if he didn’t come home. Dave hadn’t questioned aloud what seemed like blatant paranoia at the time, only kept immaculate track of the lessons. Who best to talk to about selling off anime collections to the highest bidder, the ins and out of the smuppet trade, where to go when the money from that eventually dried up and the options were hard labor, smuggling, or imprisonment. Dave knew absolutely everything he needed to in order to go on without his brother. Every detail was in place for the night a late shift ran through the week.

It still hurt like fuck.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been in his room, tossing between miserable wakefulness and dry sleep, denying the existence of the tears oozing steadily from his eyes and the choking feeling of thickness in his throat. Plates of food were repeatedly brought in and taken away untouched without a word. Time was heavy, an encumbrance that crushed his breath from him and left him pitiful. Time was something he couldn’t protect himself from.

Some fucking knight he was.

He didn’t hear a knock at the door, but he felt the hand on his arm, jerking back and ramming his shoulder into the wall.

“Dave,” Jade said quietly. “Briefing starts soon.”

Dave flung his hand out onto the bedside table, pushing on his shades before sitting up, uncaring that he was wearing nothing but boxers. Modesty seemed stupid to be concerned about.

“What’s the briefing for?” He asked, voice hoarse. He was surprised they’d given him this long to work out whatever bullshit he was letting stir him up. The prospect of a solid patrol and decapitating a couple of the imperial bitch’s cronies made his head buzz pleasantly.

Jade turned her eyes from him for a moment. “The mission… We’re going to kill the Empress.”

* * *

John wasn’t sure if he could do this.

Sure, he and Karkat had kissed and stuff, but this was a whole other thing. Not that he didn’t want to! The embarrassed wet dreams and awkward erection of his adolescence had prepared him for this. John’s very first Sexy™.

He was shirtless. Karkat was shirtless (and in his bed, his brain helpfully added). John was well on his way to boner city if Karkat kept doing that _thing_ with his _tongue_ on John’s neck.

They’d agreed to do this. Talked it out and everything. They might die tomorrow. They both lo- liked the other a bunch. Honestly, John didn’t have any problems with doing this. Doing _it_.

“Earth to Egbert.” Karkat chimed, looking at him with irritation pasted sloppily over concern.

John blinked rapidly, realizing he’d gotten lost in his own head. He gave Karkat a reassuring smile. “I’m okay.”

They’d agreed that they didn’t need to have sex. Truthfully, it was just closeness, intimacy they craved, knowing it might be their last chance, best case scenario.

Karkat nodded, kneeling back on his heels and unbuttoning his pants. John watched as grey jeans were pushed down and-

John stared.

All of the trollnatomy classes in the world could not have prepared him for this.

Staring him in the face was a real actual tentabulge, cherry red in color.

John glanced at Karkat’s face, the troll’s eyes squeezed shut.

John wet his lips, carefully reaching forward and wrapping his fingers around it. Karkat let out a breath, and John gripped it firmly. Or tried to, at least. Karkat’s bulge was slick, with thin, viscous fluid clinging to it and making any attempts to tighten his grasp result in his hand slipping closer to the tip.

Karkat groaned aloud, blush spreading across his cheeks.

John bit his lip, starting to work his hand up and down the shaft.

Karkat’s hand fell onto his shoulder, claws digging in lightly. “Stop,” he ground out, looking at John with dilated eyes. “I’m not going to last if you keep manhandling my bulge like that.”

John wet his lips and nodded. “Tell me what you want then.” He said in what he hoped was an exceedingly sexy manner.

Karkat surprised him with a blush, looking pointedly away from John. “I want…” he trailed off, mumbling.

John blinked. “What was that?” He asked, giving the bulge a gentle squeeze that made Karkat gasp aloud.

“I said, I want to see yours.” Karkat grumbled, face now nearly consumed with embarrassed flush.

“Oh.” John said intellectually, releasing Karkat’s bulge, noting the way the cherry red fluid clung to his hand. Gross. He wiped it on the leg of his shorts, serving to smear it. Probably a bad decision.

John tried not to let his nervousness rush his hands as he undid his pants.

He could feel Karkat’s eyes on him. John had only a moment to worry about claws before Karkat’s hand was on him, testing the give of his half-hard dick.

A gasp fell from John’s lips as Karkat scooted closer, bringing their respective genitalia together.

John watched and felt the writhing shape of Karkat’s bulge against his cock, enthralled with its seeming independence and the smooth slide of it over his heated skin, smearing red fluid in its wake.

John and Karkat’s hands worked in tandem, each fitting around both extremities as best they were able and stroking up and down, fingers overlapping in some places.

John balked for a moment, glancing around his room. Candles! He should have gotten candles to set the mood. And he was still wearing his socks, the least sexy of all clothing articles. He hadn’t even gotten melted chocolate and strawberries like one of the bad romcoms Karkat got all moon-eyed over.

As though sensing John’s disquiet, Karkat pushed his forehead to John’s, blue eyes locking with grey as the two shared something far more intimate than a mutual orgasm before they marched to their deaths.

* * *

John wasn’t sure if he could do this.

It was one thing to scuffle with some bullying soldiers, but an assault on the Condesce’s ship? It was dizzying.

And to think, this had all started with him wanting to get his dad back.

He would, he assured himself.

Karkat was keeping him close as what seemed like the entire Resistance gathered in the streets. The base had been emptied of all able to fight, Sollux setting up a small base of operations a few blocks away to begin scrambling the ship’s code when necessary, a handful of medics on the field, Mindfang’s forces in the shadows to stop any resistance from Her Majesty’s irregulars.

The low drone of the Condesce’s ship could be heard nearing, right on schedule. The Summoner’s hand was held up in warning, Horuss quadruple-checking the configurations on his special cannon.

Really, cannons were supposed to be large. This thing was the size of one of those chutey tube canisters that hold receipts and occasionally boonbucks when one uses the drive-through at a bank.

An eerie laughter sounded in the distance, ricocheting between buildings and growing. Barely visible by the street lamps, a body fell with a wet smack to the pavement some distance away.

“Blasphemers gotta motherfucking fall.” John heard whispered suddenly in his ear, making him shiver, and the tall form of the Prince of Rage vanished after the laughsassins, hunting his former comrades.

Their job was easy enough, John decided. Of course, he and Karkat would be on the fucking Condesce’s ship and just overall making shit blow up in the guards’ faces, so the word ‘easy’ probably couldn’t be fairly applied.

A hand grabbed his wrist, the agent’s face obscured by tan. “Stay safe.” Jane’s voice told him, pulling him into an embrace. “You get yourself hurt, or worse…” she trailed off as her voice thickened.

John patted his cousin twice on the back. “You’ll replace my shampoo with cake batter again?”

Jane laughed softly. “I couldn’t help it. My prankster’s gambit is too strong.”

John smiled, though he knew she couldn’t see it. “Be careful. The fighting will probably be worst on the ground.”

Jane put her hands on her hips defiantly. “And who has it been to kick your ass in every wrestling match _and_ board game for the past ten years?”

John grinned, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck. “You don’t have to tell people that.”

An earsplitting boom shook them from their cousin revelry, bright lights illuminating the enormous red ship, prone in the air.

“Direct hit on the turbine. She’s either going to sit there or land, and we have the advantage on the ground. She’ll have to touch down or risk a blowout either way.” Horuss grinned, blowing smoke from the tip of his cannon.

“Well done.” The Summoner said, then turned to face the agents. “Resistance,” he addressed them. “Move out.”

* * *

Jake was a hardened soldier, trained since birth to be an instrument in the fall of the Empire.

Ergo, it was complete and utter horse shit that he had been confined to his quarters. They needed all the numbers they could get, he’d argued. If anyone had the proper drive to see the witch’s head on a pike-

It wasn’t Jake’s drive the Summoner claimed to be worried about. It was his judgement.

Jake punched the steel wall, enough to make his knuckles throb. Three more swings in quick succession, and he crashed his forehead forward as well, feeling bleed drip down his fingers. His hands were shaking, he realized.

The room made him feel trapped. Caged. Like a wild animal shoved in a space too small.

A week ago, Dirk had been in there with him. They’d had an awfully good shag followed by a series of untasteful jokes and more making out.

Ten years. A year of training between a shy sharpshooter and a cocky recruit with a Texan accent. Nine years as partners, growing together with each mission, each injury, each toast to every night that might be their last. Six days of a clumsy relationship.

Ten years of the best friendship Jake had ever known blotted out by the whim of a power hungry, elitist, egotistical,

If Jake could go back to that mission, he would have made sure Dirk got out, even if it meant sacrificing himself.

Jake felt his knees buckle beneath him as he slid to the floor.

He didn’t want to go on like this.

He faded into restless sleep.

* * *

As Horuss had predicted, the ship touched down before the remaining engines boosted to get her back into the sky. In those fleeting moments, however, a volley of the Condesce’s personal guard swung out to attack the Resistance, seeing as the laughsassins dogging the streets were indisposed with a single rogue agent.

From the ship’s flank, a handful of grappling hooks fired, Resistance agents deployed with their objectives in mind.

John and Karkat’s was simple: raise hell.

John squirmed through the air duct, using his hands to push himself forward. “Couldn’t we just have snuck around in the hallways?” He asked Karkat’s feet.

“Too easy to get overwhelmed.” The troll replied, still fiddling with the screws. “Son of a-” With a great clatter, the grate clattered to the floor, and Karkat departed the narrow tunnel, likely falling onto his face by the bitten-off curse.

Karkat offered his hand to spare John a similar fate, and they look around.

By the stolen blueprints they had spent hours poring over with Latula and Cronus, this was the inner hull of the ship. They weren’t far from the guard quarters. If the others needed help getting to the controls, they could be there.

“Come on.” Karkat said.

Their feet hammered on the steel floor, strife specibi at the ready.

* * *

An elegant woman sat primly in her cell, drinking the last of her water for the day from a tin bowl. The soldiers in the hallway were making such a ruckus, she had half a mind to request they quiet down.

With a sigh, she rose and straightened the skirt of her dress.

Grey-skinned figures were darting about in panic beyond the bars of her cell.

“Oi! Get back!” One barked at her, one who’d been in this pit nearly as long as she had. She couldn’t quite recall him being courteous to her in their sparing interactions.

She ignored him, stepping completely up to the bar.

“I sai-” _Clang!_

The sound of his skull thumping against the bars when she grabbed hold of his uniform and jerked him forward echoed through her cell. She’d always been rather fond of the acoustics. His key was on his belt, though sadly he didn’t have a flask tucked away anywhere.

Pity. She couldn’t say how long she’d gone without a stiff drink.

She liberated the unconscious soldier of his strife specibus, doubting she’d find her own anywhere. A bat. Could be worse, she supposed.

Her heels clicked on the cement floor, making her feel powerful. She touched up her lipstick in her reflection at a window (say what you will about the Empress, she certainly knew how to keep her prisoners in cosmetics), then looked at the city. Smoke billowed forth from the crimson trident in the sky. That brightened her mood considerably.

The woman continued down the hallway, knocking her stolen bat into a few heads to make sure no one went and tattled on her like a naughty child.

When she came to the door she was seeking, she put the key in and twisted smoothly.

The slouched-over man in the cell didn’t acknowledge her. His shirt was stained, a fair bit of stubble marring his usually smooth cheeks. His tie was loosened, lips chapped. Certainly, not how she recalled him.

“I must say, the scruffy look does not suit you at all.” She told him.

His head turned quickly to her, eyes wide with disbelief. He pushed himself to his feet, dusting the seat of his pants.

“Ms. Lalonde.” The gentleman greeted.

“Now I’m surprised at you, Egbert!” She teased. “To think you’ve been here and haven’t come to visit me.” Their hands clasped together, and they shared a smile.

“Forgive me my thoughtlessness.” He requested. The slightest change in facial expression, and she quickly changed positions with him. With the strength of a much younger man, he kicked the soldier attempting to rush them by surprise soundly in the gut, head thwacking against the wall. The guard sank to the ground, unconscious. Egbert huffed a breath. “Just like old times, eh?”

The moment Egbert turned around, he found himself pinned to the bars of his cell, baseball bat across his throat.

“Just like old times.” Lalonde responded, smirking at the bob of his throat. She stepped back, walking from the cell without checking to make sure he was following. “Now, let’s see if we can’t find a nice bottle of something strong before we check on our other friends.”

* * *

Jake had always liked this park. The trees towered overhead, late spring sun trickling in between the leaves. Dirk’s hands were threaded through his hair, rubbing at Jake’s scalp in a way he quite liked. He had his head atop one of Dirk’s thighs, reveling in this still afternoon away from politics and regicide.

“You’re quiet.” Dirk commented. He wasn’t as Jake remembered him. The scars of his torture were gone, head still nice and attached, hair gelled to all hell. This was how Jake wanted to remember him.

Jake sat up, pressing their lips together for just a moment. His brain’s conjuration of Dirk wasn’t wearing his shades, he noted. Jake hadn’t often see Dirk so open, face nearly childish in comparison to his usual stony exterior, the freckles scattered outward from his nose more apparent.

“I miss you.” Jake admitted.

“I’m right here.” Brain Dirk replied, spark of amusement in his voice, even going so far as to brighten his amber eyes.

Jake looked away, embarrassed. “I mean the real you. The one who’s…”

“Dead?”

Jake nodded, and dead brain Dirk’s hand returned to his hair.

“That’s alright.” Dead brain Dirk assured.

Jake sighed. “I know this is a dream, and that you’re not coming back,”

“Says who?”

“What?”

“Says who?” Dead brain Dirk repeated. “I might.”

Jake closed his eyes, putting his head back in dead brain Dirk’s lap. “Please don’t tease me.”

“Jake?”

“Hmm?”

“Open your eyes.”

And he did.

“Hey Jake.” Dirk said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who doesn't love a good cliffhanger?
> 
> We're nearing the end here folks.


End file.
